The After House..................................................................................................................................................1

Baroness Orczy........................................................................................................................................1

On! ever on! in that wild, surging torrent; sowing the wind of anarchy, of terrorism, of lust of blood and hate,

On! ever on! France, with Paris and all her children still rushes blindly, madly on; defies the powerful

coalition,Austria, England, Spain, Prussia, all joined together to stem the flow of carnage, defies the

Paris this September 1793!or shall we call it Vendemiaire, Year I. of the Republic?call it what we will!

Paris! a city of bloodshed, of humanity in its lowest, most degraded aspect. France herself a gigantic

selfdevouring monster, her fairest cities destroyed, Lyons razed to the ground, Toulon, Marseilles, masses

of blackened ruins, her bravest sons turned to lustful brutes or to abject cowards seeking safety at the cost of

That is thy reward, oh mighty, holy Revolution! apotheosis of equality and fraternity! grand rival of decadent

Five weeks now since Marat, the bloodthirsty Friend of the People, succumbed beneath the sheathknife of a

virgin patriot, a month since his murderess walked proudly, even enthusiastically, to the guillotine! There has

been no reactiononly a great sigh! ... Not of content or satisfied lust, but a sigh such as the maneating

A king on the scaffold; a queen degraded and abased, awaiting death, which lingers on the threshold of her

infamous prison; eight hundred scions of ancient houses that have made the history of France; brave generals,

Custine, Blanchelande, Houchard, Beauharnais; worthy patriots, noblehearted women, misguided

enthusiasts, all by the score and by the hundred, up the few wooden steps which lead to the guillotine.

But for the moment,a few seconds only,Paris looked round her mighty self, and thought things over!

The maneating tiger for the space of a sigh licked his powerful jaws and pondered!

Why, obviously!How comes it that great, intellectual, aesthetic Paris never thought of such a wonderful

Christianity is old and obsolete, priests are aristocrats, wealthy oppressors of the People, the Church but

Already something has been done to destroy the old! To destroy! always to destroy! Churches have been

ransacked, altars spoliated, tombs desecrated, priests and curates murdered; but that is not enough.

Stay!Not a God this time!for God means Majesty, Power, Kingship! everything in fact which the

Paris wanted a new religion, and a new toy, and grave men, ardent patriots, mad enthusiasts, sat in the

Assembly of the Convention and seriously discussed the means of providing her with both these things which

Chaumette, I think it was, who first solved the difficulty:Procureur Chaumette, head of the Paris

Municipality, he who had ordered that the cart which bore the dethroned queen to the squalid prison of the

Conciergerie should be led slowly past her own late palace of the Tuileries, and should be stopped there just

long enough for her to see and to feel in one grand mental vision all that she had been when she dwelt there,

Chaumette, as you see, was refined, artistic;the torture of the fallen Queen's heart meant more to him than

No wonder, therefore, that it was Procureur Chaumette who first discovered exactly what type of new

"Let us have a Goddess of Reason," he said, "typified if you will by the most beautiful woman in Paris. Let us

have a feast of the Goddess of Reason, let there be a pyre of all the gewgaws which for centuries have been

flaunted by overbearing priests before the eyes of starving multitudes, let the People rejoice and dance around

that funeral pile, and above it all let the new Goddess tower smiling and triumphant. The Goddess of Reason!

the only deity our new and regenerate France shall acknowledge throughout the centuries which are to

"A new goddess, by all means!" shouted the grave gentlemen of the National Assembly, "the Goddess of

They were all eager that the People should have this toy; something to play with and to tease, round which to

Something to distract the minds of the populace from the consequences of its own deeds, and the helplessness

Procureur Chaumette enlarged upon his original idea; like a true artist who sees the broad effect of a picture

at a glance and then fills in the minute details, he was already busy elaborating his scheme.

"The goddess must be beautiful ... not too young ... Reason can only go hand in hand with the riper age of

second youth ... she must be decked out in classical draperies, severe yet suggestive ... she must be rouged

and painted ... for she is a mere idol ... easily to be appeased with incense, music and laughter."

He was getting deeply interested in his subject, seeking minutiae of detail, with which to render his theme

But patience was never the characteristic of the Revolutionary Government of France. The National

Assembly soon tired of Chaumette's dithyrambic utterances. Up aloft on the Mountain, Danton was yawning

Soon Henriot was on his feet. He had a far finer scheme than that of the Procureur to place before his

colleagues. A grand National fete, semireligious in character, but of the new religion which destroyed and

Citizen Chaumette's Goddess of Reason by all meansHenriot conceded that the idea was a good onebut

the goddess merely as a figurehead: around her a procession of unfrocked and apostate priests, typifying the

destruction of ancient hierarchy, mules carrying loads of sacred vessels, the spoils of ten thousand churches

of France, and ballet girls in bacchanalian robes, dancing the Carmagnole around the new deity.

Public Prosecutor Foucquier Tinville thought all these schemes very tame. Why should the People of France

be led to think that the era of a new religion would mean an era of milk and water, of pageants and of

fireworks? Let every man, woman, and child know that this was an era of blood and again of blood.

"Oh!" he exclaimed in passionate accents, "would that all the traitors in France had but one head, that it might

He approved of the National fete, but he desired an apotheosis of the guillotine; he undertook to find ten

thousand traitors to be beheaded on one grand and glorious day: ten thousand heads to adorn the Place de la

Revolution on a great, nevertobeforgotten evening, after the guillotine had accomplished this record

But Collot d'Herbois would also have his say. Collot lately hailed from the South, with a reputation for

ferocity unparalleled throughout the whole of this horrible decade. He would not be outdone by Tinville's

He was the inventor of the "Noyades," which had been so successful at Lyons and Marseilles. "Why not give

the inhabitants of Paris one of these exhilarating spectacles?" he asked with a coarse, brutal laugh.

Then he explained his invention, of which he was inordinately proud. Some two or three hundred traitors,

men, women, and children, tied securely together with ropes in great, human bundles and thrown upon a

barge in the middle of the river: the barge with a hole in her bottom! not too large! only sufficient to cause

The cries of the women and children, and even of the men, as they felt the waters rising and gradually

enveloping them, as they felt themselves powerless even for a fruitless struggle, had proved most

exhilarating, so Citizen Collot declared, to the hearts of the true patriots of Lyons.

This was the era when every man had but one desire, that of outdoing others in ferocity and brutality, and but

The great duel between the Titanic leaders of these turbulent parties, the conflict between hotheaded Danton

on the one side and cold blooded Robespierre on the other, had only just begun; the great, all devouring

monsters had dug their claws into one another, but the issue of the combat was still at stake.

Neither of these two giants had taken part in these deliberations anent the new religion and the new goddess.

Danton gave signs now and then of the greatest impatience, and muttered something about a new form of

On the left, Robespierre in immaculate seagreen coat and carefully gauffered linen was quietly polishing the

But nothing escaped him of what was going on. His ferocious egoism, his unbounded ambition was even now

calculating what advantages to himself might accrue from this idea of the new religion and of the National

The matter outwardly seemed trivial enough, but already his keen and calculating mind had seen various side

issues which might tend to place himRobespierreon a yet higher and more unassailable pinnacle.

Surrounded by those who hated him, those who envied and those who feared him, he ruled over them all by

the strength of his own coldblooded savagery, by the resistless power of his merciless cruelty.

He cared about nobody but himself, about nothing but his own exaltation: every action of his career, since he

gave up his small practice in a quiet provincial town in order to throw himself into the wild vortex of

He saw his colleagues and comrades of the old Jacobin Clubs ruthlessly destroyed around him: friends he had

none, and all left him indifferent; and now he had hundreds of enemies in every assembly and club in Paris,

and these too one by one were being swept up in that wild whirlpool which they themselves had created.

Impassive, serene, always ready with a calm answer, when passion raged most hotly around him,

Robespierre, the most ambitious, most selfseeking demagogue of his time, had acquired the reputation of

And thus whilst others talked and argued, waxed hot over schemes for processions and pageantry, or loudly

denounced the whole matter as the work of a traitor, he, of the seagreen coat, sat quietly polishing his nails.

But he had already weighed all these discussions in the balance of his mind, placed them in the crucible of his

ambition, and turned them into something that would benefit him and strengthen his position.

Aye! the feast should be brilliant enough! gay or horrible, mad or fearful, but through it all the people of

France must be made to feel that there was a guiding hand which ruled the destinies of all, a head which

framed the new laws, which consolidated the new religion and established its new goddess: the Goddess of

A tiny boudoir, once the dainty sanctum of imperious Marie Antoinette; a faint and ghostly odour, like unto

the perfume of spectres, seemed still to cling to the stained walls, and to the torn Gobelin tapestries.

Everywhere lay the impress of a heavy and destroying hand: that of the great and glorious Revolution.

In the mudsoiled corners of the room a few chairs, with brocaded cushions rudely torn, leant broken and

desolate against the walls. A small footstool, once giltlegged and satincovered, had been overturned and

roughly kicked to one side, and there it lay on its back, like some little animal that had been hurt, stretching

From the delicately wrought Buhl table the silver inlay had been harshly stripped out of its bed of shell.

Across the Lunette, painted by Boucher and representing a chaste Diana surrounded by a bevy of nymphs, an

uncouth hand had scribbled in charcoal the device of the Revolution: Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite ou la Mort;

whilst, as if to give a crowning point to the work of destruction and to emphasise its motto, someone had

decorated the portrait of Marie Antoinette with a scarlet cap, and drawn a red and ominous line across her

Between them a solitary tallow candle, unsnuffed and weirdly flickering, threw fantastic shadows upon the

One, high cheekboned, with coarse, sensuous lips, and hair elaborately and carefully powdered; the other

pale and thinlipped, with the keen eyes of a ferret and a high intellectual forehead, from which the sleek

The first of these men was Robespierre, the ruthless and incorruptible demagogue; the other was Citizen

The hour was late, and the noises from the great, seething city preparing for sleep came to this remote little

apartment in the now deserted Palace of the Tuileries, merely as a faint and distant echo.

It was two days after the Fructidor Riots. Paul Deroulede and the woman Juliette Marny, both condemned to

death, had been literally spirited away out of the cart which was conveying them from the Hall of Justice to

the Luxembourg Prison, and news had just been received by the Committee of Public Safety that at Lyons,

the Abbe du Mesnil, with the cidevant Chevalier d'Egremont and the latter's wife and family, had effected a

But this was not all. When Arras fell into the hands of the Revolutionary army, and a regular cordon was

formed round the town, so that not a single royalist traitor might escape, some three score women and

children, twelve priests, the old aristocrats Chermeuil, Delleville and Galipaux and many others, managed to

Raids were made on the suspected houses: in Paris chiefly where the escaped prisoners might have found

refuge, or better still where their helpers and rescuers might still be lurking. Foucquier Tinville, Public

Prosecutor, led and conducted these raids, assisted by that bloodthirsty vampire, Merlin. They heard of a

house in the Rue de l'Ancienne Comedie where an Englishmen was said to have lodged for two days.

They demanded admittance, and were taken to the rooms where the Englishman had stayed. These were bare

and squalid, like hundreds of other rooms in the poorer quarters of Paris. The landlady, toothless and grimy,

had not yet tidied up the one where the Englishman had slept: in fact she did not know he had left for good.

He had paid for his room, a week in advance, and came and went as he liked, she explained to Citizen

Tinville. She never bothered about him, as he never took a meal in the house, and he was only there two days.

She did not know her lodger was English until the day he left. She thought he was a Frenchman from the

"It was the day of the riots," she continued; "he would go out, and I told him I did not think that the streets

would be safe for a foreigner like him: for he always wore such very fine clothes, and I made sure that the

starving men and women of Paris would strip them off his back when their tempers were roused. But he only

laughed. He gave me a bit of paper and told me that if he did not return I might conclude that he had been

killed, and if the Committee of Public Safety asked me questions about me, I was just to show the bit of paper

She had talked volubly, more than a little terrified at Merlin's scowls, and the attitude of Citizen Tinville, who

But the Citizenessher name was Brogard and her husband's brother kept an inn in the neighbourhood of

Calaisthe Citizeness Brogard had a clear conscience. She held a license from the Committee of Public

Safety for letting apartments, and she had always given due notice to the Committee of the arrival and

departure of her lodgers. The only thing was that if any lodger paid her more than ordinarily well for the

accommodation and he so desired it, she would send in the notice conveniently late, and conveniently

vaguely worded as to the description, status and nationality of her more liberal patrons.

But she did not explain it quite like that to Citizen Foucquier Tinville or to Citizen Merlin.

However, she was rather frightened, and produced the scrap of paper which the Englishman had left with her,

together with the assurance that when she showed it there would be no further trouble.

Tinville took it roughly out of her hand, but would not glance at it. He crushed it into a ball and then Merlin

snatched it from him with a coarse laugh, smoothed out the creases on his knee and studied it for a moment.

There were two lines of what looked like poetry, written in a language which Merlin did not understand.

But what was perfectly clear, and easily comprehended by any one, was the little drawing in the corner, done

Then Tinville and Merlin both cursed loudly and volubly, and bidding their men follow them, turned away

from the house in the Rue de l'Ancienne Comedie and left its toothless landlady on her own doorstep still

volubly protesting her patriotism and her desire to serve the government of the Republic.

Tinville and Merlin, however, took the scrap of paper to Citizen Robespierre, who smiled grimly as he in his

Robespierre did not swear. He never wasted either words or oaths, but he slipped the bit of paper inside the

double lid of his silver snuff box and then he sent a special messenger to Citizen Chauvelin in the Rue

Corneille, bidding him come that same evening after ten o'clock to room No. 16 in the cidevant Palace of

It was now halfpast ten, and Chauvelin and Robespierre sat opposite one another in the exboudoir of

Queen Marie Antoinette, and between them on the table, just below the tallowcandle, was a much creased,

It had passed through several unclean hands before Citizen Robespierre's immaculately white fingers had

The latter, however, was not looking at the paper, he was not even looking at the pale, cruel face before him.

He had closed his eyes and for a moment had lost sight of the small dark room, of Robespierre's ruthless

gaze, of the mudstained walls and greasy floor. He was seeing, as in a bright and sudden vision, the

brilliantlylighted salons of the Foreign Office in London, with beautiful Marguerite Blakeney gliding

He heard the flutter of many fans, the froufrou of silk dresses, and above all the din and sound of dance

music, he heard an inane laugh and an affected voice repeating the doggerel rhyme that was even now written

"We seek him here, and we seek him there, Those Frenchies seek him everywhere! Is he in heaven, is he in

It was a mere flash! One of memory's swiftly effaced pictures, when she shows us for the fraction of a

second, indelible pictures from out our past. Chauvelin, in that same second, while his own eyes were closed

and Robespierre's fixed upon him, also saw the lonely cliffs of Calais, heard the same voice singing: "God

save the King!" the volley of musketry, the despairing cries of Marguerite Blakeney; and once again he felt

Robespierre had quietly waited the while. He was in no hurry: being a nightbird of very pronounced tastes,

he was quite ready to sit here until the small hours of the morning watching Citizen Chauvelin mentally

There was nothing that delighted the seagreen Incorruptible quite so much as the aspect of a man struggling

with a hopeless situation and feeling a net of intrigue drawing gradually tighter and tighter around him.

Even now, when he saw Chauvelin's smooth forehead wrinkled into an anxious frown, and his thin hand

nervously clutched upon the table, Robespierre heaved a pleasurable sigh, leaned back in his chair, and said

"You do agree with me, then, Citizen, that the situation has become intolerable?"

"And how terribly galling it all is, when we could have had that man under the guillotine by now, if you had

His voice had become hard and trenchant like that knife to which he was so ready to make constant allusion.

But Chauvelin still remained silent. There was really nothing that he could say.

Then only did Chauvelin break the silence which up to now he had appeared to have forced himself to keep.

"Then why do you not make an effort to retrieve the blunders of last year?" queried Robespierre blandly.

"The Republic has been unusually patient and longsuffering with you, Citizen Chauvelin. She has taken

your many services and wellknown patriotism into consideration. But you know," he added significantly,

Then as Chauvelin seemed to have relapsed into sullen silence, he continued with his original illomened

"Ma foi! Citizen Chauvelin, were I standing in your buckled shoes, I would not lose another hour in trying to

"Have I ever had a chance?" burst out Chauvelin with illsuppressed vehemence. "What can I do

singlehanded? Since war has been declared I cannot go to England unless the Government will find some

official reason for my doing so. There is much grumbling and wrath over here, and when that damned Scarlet

Pimpernel League has been at work, when a score or so of valuable prizes have been snatched from under the

very knife of the guillotine, then, there is much gnashing of teeth and useless cursings, but nothing serious or

definite is done to smother those accursed English flies which come buzzing about our ears."

"Nay! you forget, Citizen Chauvelin," retorted Robespierre, "that we of the Committee of Public Safety are

far more helpless than you. You know the language of these people, we don't. You know their manners and

customs, their ways of thought, the methods they are likely to employ: we know none of these things. You

have seen and spoken to men in England who are members of that damned League. You have seen the man

He leant forward on the table and looked more searchingly at the thin, pallid face before him.

"If you named that leader to me now, if you described him, we could go to work more easily. You could

"Ah! but I think you could. But there! I do not blame your silence. You would wish to reap the reward of

your own victory, to be the instrument of your own revenge. Passions! I think it natural! But in the name of

your own safety, Citizen, do not be too greedy with your secret. If the man is known to you, find him again,

find him, lure him to France! We want himthe people want him! And if the people do not get what they

"I understand, Citizen, that your own safety and that of your government is involved in this renewed attempt

"Nay! I know that well enough, and you may believe me, and you will, Citizen, when I say that I care but

little about that. The question is, if I am to lure that man to France what will you and your government do to

"Everything," replied Robespierre, "provided you have a definite plan and a definite purpose.

"I have both. But I must go to England in, at least, a semiofficial capacity. I can do nothing if I am to hide in

"That is easily done. There has been some talk with the British authorities anent the security and welfare of

peaceful French subjects settled in England. After a good deal of correspondence they have suggested our

sending a semiofficial representative over there to look after the interests of our own people commercially

and financially. We can easily send you over in that capacity if it would suit your purpose."

"Not quite. I have several plans in my head, and I must know that I am fully trusted. Above all, I must have

There was nothing of the weakling about this small, sableclad man, who looked the redoubtable Jacobin

leader straight in the face and brought a firm fist resolutely down upon the table before him. Robespierre

paused a while ere he replied; he was eying the other man keenly, trying to read if behind that earnest,

frowning brow there did not lurk some selfish, ulterior motive along with that demand for absolute power.

But Chauvelin did not flinch beneath that gaze which could make every cheek in France blanch with

unnamed terror, and after that slight moment of hesitation Robespierre said quietly:

"You shall have the complete power of a military dictator in every town or borough of France which you may

visit. The Revolutionary Government shall create you, before you start for England, Supreme Head of all the

SubCommittees of Public Safety. This will mean that in the name of the safety of the Republic every order

given by you, of whatsoever nature it might be, must be obeyed implicitly under pain of an arraignment for

Chauvelin sighed a quick, sharp sigh of intense satisfaction, which he did not even attempt to disguise before

"You shall have both. We keep a very efficient secret service in England and they do a great deal of good

over there. There is much dissatisfaction in their Midland countiesyou remember the Birmingham riots?

They were chiefly the work of our own spies. Then you know Candeille, the actress? She had found her way

among some of those circles in London who have what they call liberal tendencies. I believe they are called

Whigs. Funny name, isn't it? It means perruque, I think. Candeille has given charity performances in aid of

our Paris poor, in one or two of these Whig clubs, and incidentally she has been very useful to us."

"A woman is always useful in such cases. I shall seek out the Citizeness Candeille."

"And if she renders you useful assistance, I think I can offer her what should prove a tempting prize. Women

are so vain!" he added, contemplating with rapt attention the enamellike polish on his finger nails. "There

is a vacancy in the Maison Moliere. Orwhat might prove more attractive stillin connection with the

proposed National fete, and the new religion for the people, we have not yet chosen a Goddess of Reason.

That should appeal to any feminine mind. The impersonation of a goddess, with processions, pageants, and

the rest. ... Great importance and prominence given to one personality. ... What say you, Citizen? If you really

have need of a woman for the furtherance of your plans, you have that at your disposal which may enhance

"I thank you, Citizen," rejoined Chauvelin calmly. "I always entertained a hope that some day the

Revolutionary Government would call again on my services. I admit that I failed last year. The Englishman is

resourceful. He has wits and he is very rich. He would not have succeeded, I think, but for his money and

corruption and bribery are rife in Paris and on our coasts. He slipped through my fingers at the very moment

when I thought that I held him most securely. I do admit all that, but I am prepared to redeem my failure of

He looked round for his cloak and hat, and quietly readjusted the set of his necktie. But Robespierre

detained him a while longer: that born mountebank, born torturer of the souls of men, had not gloated

Chauvelin had always been trusted and respected. His services in connection with the foreign affairs of the

Revolutionary Government had been invaluable, both before and since the beginning of the European War.

At one time he formed part of that merciless decemvirate whichwith Robespierre at its headmeant to

But the seagreen Incorruptible had since tired of him, then had endeavoured to push him on one side, for

Chauvelin was keen and clever, and, moreover, he possessed all those qualities of selfless patriotism which

His failure in bringing that interfering Scarlet Pimpernel to justice and the guillotine had completed

Chauvelin's downfall. Though not otherwise molested, he had been left to moulder in obscurity during this

Now he was not only to be given one more chance to regain public favour, but he had demanded powers

which in consideration of the aim in view, Robespierre himself could not refuse to grant him. But the

With characteristic blandness he seemed to be entering into all Chauvelin's schemes, to be helping in every

way he could, for there was something at the back of his mind which he meant to say to the exambassador,

before the latter took his leave: something which would show him that he was but on trial once again, and

which would demonstrate to him with perfect clearness that over him there hovered the allpowerful hand of

"You have but to name the sum you want, Citizen Chauvelin," said the Incorruptible, with an encouraging

smile, "the government will not stint you, and you shall not fail for lack of authority or for lack of funds."

"It is pleasant to hear that the government has such uncounted wealth," remarked Chauvelin with dry

"Oh! the last few weeks have been very profitable," retorted Robespierre; "we have confiscated money and

jewels from emigrant royalists to the tune of several million francs. You remember the traitor Juliette Marny,

who escape to England lately? Well! her mother's jewels and quite a good deal of gold were discovered by

one of our most able spies to be under the care of a certain Abbe Foucquet, a calotin from

"Our men seized the jewels and gold, that is all. We don't know yet what we mean to do with the priest. The

fisherfolk of Boulogne like him, and we can lay our hands on him at any time, if we want his old head for the

guillotine. But the jewels were worth having. There's a historic necklace worth half a million at least."

"You said it belonged to the Marny family," continued the ex ambassador. "Juliette Marny is in England. I

might meet her. I cannot tell what may happen: but I feel that the historic necklace might prove useful. Just as

you please," he added with renewed indifference. "It was a thought that flashed through my mind when you

"And to show you how thoroughly the government trusts you, Citizen Chauvelin," replied Robespierre with

perfect urbanity, "I will myself direct that the Marny necklace be placed unreservedly in your hands; and a

sum of fifty thousand francs for your expenses in England. You see," he added blandly, "we give you no

"I need none," retorted Chauvelin drily, as he finally rose from his seat, with a sigh of satisfaction that this

But Robespierre too had risen, and pushing his chair aside he took a step or two towards Chauvelin. He was a

much taller man than the exambassador. Spare and gaunt, he had a very upright bearing, and in the

uncertain light of the candle he seemed to tower strangely and weirdly above the other man: the pale hue of

his coat, his light coloured hair, the whiteness of his linen, all helped to give to his appearance at that

Chauvelin somehow felt an unpleasant shiver running down his spine as Robespierre, perfectly urbane and

"Citizen Chauvelin," said the Incorruptible, with some degree of dignified solemnity, "meseems that we very

quickly understood one another this evening. Your own conscience, no doubt, gave you a premonition of

what the purport of my summons to you would be. You say that you always hoped the Revolutionary

Government would give you one great chance to redeem your failure of last year. I, for one, always intended

that you should have that chance, for I saw, perhaps, just a little deeper into your heart than my colleagues. I

saw not only enthusiasm for the cause of the People of France, not only abhorrence for the enemy of your

country, I saw a purely personal and deadly hate of an individual man the unknown and mysterious

Englishman who proved too clever for you last year. And because I believe that hatred will prove sharper and

more farseeing than selfless patriotism, therefore I urged the Committee of Public Safety to allow you to

work out your own revenge, and thereby to serve your country more effectually than any otherperhaps

more pure minded patriot would do. You go to England wellprovided with all that is necessary for the

success of your plans, for the accomplishment of your own personal vengeance. The Revolutionary

Government will help you with money, passports, safe conducts; it places its spies and agents at your

disposal. It gives you practically unlimited power, wherever you may go. It will not enquire into your

motives, nor yet your means, so long as these lead to success. But private vengeance or patriotism, whatever

may actuate you, we here in France demand you deliver into our hands the man who is known in two

countries as the Scarlet Pimpernel! We want him alive if possible, or dead if it must be so, and we want as

many of his henchmen as will follow him to the guillotine. Get them to France, and we'll know how to deal

He paused for a while, his hand still resting on Chauvelin's shoulder, his pale green eyes holding those of the

other man as if in a trance. But Chauvelin neither stirred nor spoke. His triumph left him quite calm; his

fertile brain was already busy with his plans. There was no room for fear in his heart, and it was without the

"Perhaps, Citizen Chauvelin," said the latter at last, "you have already guessed what there is left for me to

say. But lest there should remain in your mind one faint glimmer of doubt or of hope, let me tell you this. The

Revolutionary Government gives you this chance of redeeming your failure, but this one only; if you fail

again, your outraged country will know neither pardon nor mercy. Whether you return to France or remain in

England, whether you travel North, South, East or West, cross the Oceans, or traverse the Alps, the hand of

an avenging People will be upon you. Your second failure will be punished by death, wherever you may be,

either by the guillotine, if you are in France, or if you seek refuge elsewhere, then by the hand of an assassin.

"Look to it, "Citizen Chauvelin! for there will be no escape this time, not even if the mightiest tyrant on earth

tried to protect you, not even if you succeeded in building up an empire and placing yourself upon a throne."

His thin, strident voice echoed weirdly in the small, close boudoir. Chauvelin made no reply. There was

nothing that he could say. All that Robespierre had put so emphatically before him, he had fully realised,

It was an "eitheror" this time, uttered to HIM now. He thought again of Marguerite Blakeney, and the

Well! he was prepared to take the risk. He would not fail again. He was going to England under more

favourable conditions this time. He knew who the man was, whom he was bidden to lure to France and to

And he returned Robespierre's threatening gaze boldly and unflinchingly; then he prepared to go. He took up

his hat and cloak, opened the door and peered for a moment into the dark corridor, wherein, in the far

distance, the steps of a solitary sentinel could be faintly heard: he put on his hat, turned to look once more

It was perhaps the most brilliant September ever known in England, where the last days of dying summer are

Strange that in this country, where that same season is so peculiarly radiant with a glory all its own, there

should be no special expression in the language with which to accurately name it.

So we needs must call it "fin d'ete": the ending of the summer; not the absolute end, nor yet the ultimate

departure, but the tender lingering of a friend obliged to leave us anon, yet who fain would steal a day here

and there, a week or so in which to stay with us: who would make that last pathetic farewell of his endure a

little while longer still, and brings forth in gorgeous array for our final gaze all that he has which is most

And in this year of grace 1793, departing summer had lavished the treasures of her palette upon woodland

and river banks; had tinged the once crude green of larch and elm with a tender hue of gold, had brushed the

oaks with tones of warm russet, and put patches of sienna and crimson on the beech.

In the gardens the roses were still in bloom, not the delicate blush or lemon ones of June, nor yet the pale

Banksias and climbers, but the fullblooded red roses of late summer, and deepcoloured apricot ones, with

crinkled outside leaves faintly kissed by the frosty dew. In sheltered spots the purple clematis still lingered,

whilst the dahlias, brilliant of hue, seemed overbearing in their gorgeous insolence, flaunting their crudely

colored petals against sober backgrounds of mellow leaves, or the dull, mossy tones of ancient, encircling

The Gala had always been held about the end of September. The weather, on the riverside, was most

dependable then, and there was always sufficient sunshine as an excuse for bringing out Madam's last new

muslin gown, or her palecoloured quilted petticoat. Then the ground was dry and hard, good alike for

walking and for setting up tents and booths. And of these there was of a truth a most goodly array this year:

mountebanks and jugglers from every corner of the world, so it seemed, for there was a man with a face as

black as my lord's tricorne, and another with such flat yellow cheeks as made one think of batter pudding, and

There was a tent wherein dogsall sorts of dogs, big, little, black, white or tandid things which no

Christian with respect for his own backbone would have dared to perform, and another where a weird faced

old man made beanstalks and walking sticks, coins of the realm and lace kerchiefs vanish into thin air.

And as it was nice and hot one could sit out upon the green and listen to the strains of the band, which

discoursed sweet music, and watch the young people tread a measure on the sward.

The quality had not yet arrived: for humbler folk had partaken of very early dinner so as to get plenty of fun,

There was so much to see and so much to do: games of bowls on the green, and a beautiful Aunt Sally, there

was a skittle alley, and two merrygorounds: there were performing monkeys and dancing bears, a woman

so fat that three men with arms outstretched could not get round her, and a man so thin that he could put a

There were some funny little dwarfs with pinched faces and a knowing manner, and a giant come all the way

The mechanical toys too were a great attraction. You dropped a penny into a little slit in a box and a doll

would begin to dance and play the fiddle: and there was the Magic Mill, where for another modest copper a

row of tiny figures, wrinkled and old and dressed in the shabbiest of rags, marched in weary procession up a

flight of steps into the Mill, only to emerge again the next moment at a further door of this wonderful

building looking young and gay, dressed in gorgeous finery and tripping a dance measure as they descended

But what was most wonderful of all and collected the goodliest crowd of gazers and the largest amount of

coins, was a miniature representation of what was going on in France even at this very moment.

And you could not help but be convinced of the truth of it all, so cleverly was it done. There was a

background of houses and a very redlooking sky. "Too red!" some people said, but were immediately

quashed by the dictum of the wise, that the sky represented a sunset, as anyone who looked could see. Then

there were a number of little figures, no taller than your hand, but with little wooden faces and arms and legs,

just beautifully made little dolls, and these were dressed in kirtles and breeches all rags mostlyand little

coats and wooden shoes. They were massed together in groups with their arms all turned upwards.

And in the center of this little stage on an elevated platform there were miniature wooden posts close

together, and with a long flat board at right angles at the foot of the posts, and all painted a bright red. At the

further end of the boards was a miniature basket, and between the two posts, at the top, was a miniature knife

which ran up and down in a groove and was drawn by a miniature pulley. Folk who knew said that this was a

And lo and behold! when you dropped a penny into a slot just below the wooden stage, the crowd of little

figures started waving their arms up and down, and another little doll would ascend the elevated platform and

lie down on the red board at the foot of the wooden posts. Then a figure dressed in brilliant scarlet put out an

arm presumably to touch the pulley, and the tiny knife would rattle down on to the poor little reclining doll's

Then there was a loud whirr of wheels, a buzz of internal mechanism, and all the little figures would stop

dead with arms outstretched, whilst the beheaded doll rolled off the board and was lost to view, no doubt

It was very thrilling, and very terrible: a certain air of hushed awe reigned in the booth where this mechanical

The booth itself stood in a secluded portion of the grounds, far from the toll gates, and the band stand and the

noise of the merrygo round, and there were great texts, written in red letters on a black ground, pinned all

A lady, dressed in grey quilted petticoat and pretty grey and black striped paniers, could be seen walking in

the booth from time to time, then disappearing through a partition beyond. She would emerge again presently

carrying an embroidered reticule, and would wander round among the crowd, holding out the bag by its

chain, and repeating in tones of somewhat monotonous appeal: "For the starving poor of Paris, if you please!"

She had fine, dark eyes, rather narrow and tending upwards at the outer corners, which gave her face a not

altogether pleasant expression. Still, they were fine eyes, and when she went round soliciting alms, most of

the men put a hand into their breeches pocket and dropped a coin into her embroidered reticule.

She said the word "poor" in rather a funny way, rolling the "r" at the end, and she also said "please" as if it

were spelt with a long line of "e's," and so it was concluded that she was French and was begging for her

poorer sisters. At stated intervals during the day, the mechanical toy was rolled into a corner, and the lady in

grey stood up on a platform and sang queer little songs, the words of which nobody could understand.

But it all left an impression of sadness and of suppressed awe upon the minds and susceptibilities of the

worthy Richmond yokels come with their wives or sweethearts to enjoy the fun of the fair, and gladly did

everyone emerge out of that melancholy booth into the sunshine, the brightness and the noise.

"Lud! but she do give me the creeps," said Mistress Polly, the pretty barmaid from the Bell Inn, down by the

river. "And I must say that I don't see why we English folk should send our hardearned pennies to those

murdering ruffians over the water. Bein' starving so to speak, don't make a murderer a better man if he goes

on murdering," she added with undisputable if ungrammatical logic. "Come, let's look at something more

And without waiting for anyone else's assent, she turned towards the more lively portion of the grounds,

closely followed by a ruddy faced, somewhat sheepishlooking youth, who very obviously was her

It was getting on for three oclock now, and the quality were beginning to arrive. Lord Anthony Dewhurst

was already there, chucking every pretty girl under the chin, to the annoyance of her beau. Ladies were

arriving all the time, and the humbler feminine hearts were constantly set aflutter at sight of rich brocaded

gowns, and the new Charlottes, all crinkled velvet and soft marabout, which were so becoming to the pretty

There was incessant and loud talking and chattering, with here and there the shriller tones of a French voice

being distinctly noticeable in the din. There were a good many French ladies and gentlemen present, easily

recognisable, even in the distance, for their clothes were of more sober hue and of lesser richness than those

But they were great lords and ladies, nevertheless, Dukes and Duchesses and Countesses, come to England

for fear of being murdered by those devils in their own country. Richmond was full of them just now, as they

were made right welcome both at the Palace and at the magnificent home of Sir Percy and Lady Blakeney.

Ah! here comes Sir Andrew Ffoulkes with his lady! so pretty and dainty does she look, like a little china doll,

in her newfashioned shortwaisted gown: her brown hair in soft waves above her smooth forehead, her

great, hazel eyes fixed in unaffected admiration on the gallant husband by her side.

"No wonder she dotes on him!" signed pretty Mistress Polly after she had bobbed her curtsy to my lady. "The

brave deeds he did for love of her! Rescued her from those murderers over in France and brought her to

England safe and sound, having fought no end of them single handed, so I've beard it said. Have you not,

"Bah!" replied Master Thomas with quite unusual vehemence in response to the disparaging look in her

brown eyes, "'Tis not he who did it all, as you well know, Mistress Polly. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes is a gallant

gentleman, you may take your Bible oath on that, but he that fights the murdering frogeaters singlehanded is

he whom they call The Scarlet Pimpernel: the bravest gentleman in all the world."

Then, as at mention of the national hero, he thought that he detected in Mistress Polly's eyes an enthusiasm

which he could not very well ascribe to his own individuality, he added with some pique:

"But they do say that this same Scarlet Pimpernel is mightily ill favoured, and that's why no one ever sees

him. They say he is fit to scare the crows away and that no Frenchy can look twice at his face, for it's so ugly,

"Then they do say a mighty lot of nonsense," retorted Mistress Polly, with a shrug of her pretty shoulders,

"and if that be so, then why don't you go over to France and join hands with the Scarlet Pimpernel? I'll

A chorus of laughter greeted this sally, for the two young people had in the meanwhile been joined by several

of their friends, and now formed part of a merry group near the band, some sitting, others standing, but all

bent on seeing as much as there was to see in Richmond Gala this day. There was Johnny Cullen, the grocer's

apprentice from Twickenham, and Ursula Quekett, the baker's daughter, and several "young 'uns" from the

And all of them enjoyed a joke when they heard one and thought Mistress Polly's retort mightily smart. But

then Mistress Polly was possessed of two hundred pounds, all her own, left to her by her grandmother, and on

the strength of this extensive fortune had acquired a reputation for beauty and wit not easily accorded to a

But Mistress Polly was also very kindhearted. She loved to tease Master Jezzard, who was an indefatigable

hangeron at her pretty skirts, and whose easy conquest had rendered her somewhat contemptuous, but at the

look of perplexed annoyance and bewildered distress in the lad's face, her better nature soon got the upper

hand. She realized that her remark had been unwarrantably spiteful, and wishing to make atonement, she said

with a touch of coquetry which quickly spread balm over the honest yokel's injured vanity:

"La! Master Jezzard, you do seem to make a body say some queer things. But there! you must own 'tis

mighty funny about that Scarlet Pimpernel!" she added, appealing to the company in general, just as if Master

Jezzard had been disputing the fact. "Why won't he let anyone see who he is? And those who know him won't

tell. Now I have it for a fact from my lady's own maid Lucy, that the young lady as is stopping at Lady

Blakeney's house has actually spoken to the man. She came over from France, come a fortnight tomorrow;

she and the gentleman they call Mossoo Deroulede. They both saw the Scarlet Pimpernel and spoke to him.

"Perhaps he isn't," said old Clutterbuck, who was clerk of the vestry at the church of St. John's the Evangelist.

"Yes!" he added sententiously, for he was fond of his own sayings and usually liked to repeat them before he

"What do you mean, Master Clutterbuck?" asked Ursula Quekett, for she knew the old man liked to explain

his wise saws, and as she wanted to marry his son, she indulged him whenever she could. "What do you

Then seeing that he had gained the attention of the little party round him, he condescended to come to more

"I mean, that perhaps we must not ask, 'who IS this mysterious Scarlet Pimpernel?' but 'who WAS that poor

"Then you think ... " suggested Mistress Polly, who felt unaccountably lowspirited at this oratorical

"I have it for a fact," said Mr. Clutterbuck solemnly, "that he whom they call the Scarlet Pimpernel no longer

exists now: that he was collared by the Frenchies, as far back as last fall, and in the language of the poets, has

Mr. Clutterbuck was very fond of quoting from the works of certain writers whose names he never

mentioned, but who went by the poetical generality of "the poets." Whenever he made use of phrases which

he was supposed to derive from these great and unnamed authors, he solemnly and mechanically raised his

"You think that The Scarlet Pimpernel is dead, Mr. Clutterbuck? That those horrible Frenchies murdered

Mr. Clutterbuck put his hand up to his hat, preparatory no doubt to making another appeal to the mysterious

poets, but was interrupted in the very act of uttering great thoughts by a loud and prolonged laugh which

"Lud! but I'd know that laugh anywhere," said Mistress Quekett, whilst all eyes were turned in the direction

Half a head taller than any of his friends around him, his lazy blue eyes scanning from beneath their drooping

lids the motley throng around him, stood Sir Percy Blakeney, the centre of a gailydressed little group which

"Aye! you may take your Bible oath on that!" sighed Mistress Polly, who was inclined to be sentimental.

"Speakin' as the poets," pronounced Mr. Clutterbuck sententiously, "inches don't make a man."

"Nor fine clothes neither," added Master Jezzard, who did not approve of Mistress Polly's sentimental sigh.

"There's my lady!" gasped Miss Barbara suddenly, clutching Master Clutterbuck's arm vigorously. "Lud! but

Beautiful indeed, and radiant with youth and happiness, Marguerite Blakeney had just gone through the gates

and was walking along the sward towards the band stand. She was dressed in clinging robes of shimmery

green texture, the newfashioned highwaisted effect suiting her graceful figure to perfection. The large

Charlotte, made of velvet to match the gown, cast a deep shadow over the upper part of her face, and gave a

Long lace mittens covered her arms and hands and a scarf of diaphanous material edged with dull gold hung

Yes! she was beautiful! No captious chronicler has ever denied that! and no one who knew her before, and

who saw her again on this late summer's afternoon, could fail to mark the additional charm of her magnetic

personality. There was a tenderness in her face as she turned her head to and fro, a joy of living in her eyes

Just now she was talking animatedly with the young girl who was walking beside her, and laughing merrily

"Nay! we'll find your Paul, never fear! Lud! child, have you forgotten he is in England now, and that there's

The young girl gave a slight shudder and her childlike face became a shade paler than before. Marguerite

took her hand and gave it a kindly pressure. Juliette Marny, but lately come to England, saved from under the

very knife of the guillotine, by a timely and daring rescue, could scarcely believe as yet that she and the man

"There is Monsieur Deroulede," said Marguerite after a slight pause, giving the young girl time to recover

herself and pointing to a group of men close by. "He is among friends, as you see."

They made such a pretty picture, these two women, as they stood together for a moment on the green with the

brilliant September sun throwing golden reflections and luminous shadows on their slender forms.

Marguerite, tall and queenlike in her rich gown, and costly jewels, wearing with glorious pride the invisible

crown of happy wifehood: Juliette, slim and girlish, dressed all in white, with a soft, straw hat on her fair

curls, and bearing on an otherwise young and childlike face, the hard imprint of the terrible sufferings she

Soon a group of friends joined them. Paul Deroulede among these, also Sir Andrew and Lady Ffoulkes, and

strolling slowly towards them, his hands buried in the pockets of his fine cloth breeches, his broad shoulders

set to advantage in a coat of immaculate cut, priceless lace ruffles at neck and wrist, came the inimitable Sir

To all appearances he had not changed since those early days of matrimony, when his young wife dazzled

London society by her wit and by her beauty, and he was one of the many satellites that helped to bring into

His friends alone, mayhapand of these only an intimate few had understood that beneath that selfsame

lazy manner, those shy and awkward ways, that halfinane, halfcynical laugh, there now lurked an

That Lady Blakeney was in love with her own husband, nobody could fail to see, and in the more frivolous

cliques of fashionable London this extraordinary phenomenon had oft been eagerly discussed.

"A monstrous thing, of a truth, for a woman of fashion to adore her own husband!" was the universal

pronouncement of the gailydecked little world that centred around Carlton House and Ranelagh.

Not that Sir Percy Blakeney was unpopular with the fair sex. Far be it from the veracious chronicler's mind

even to suggest such a thing. The ladies would have voted any gathering dull if Sir Percy's witty sallies did

not ring from end to end of the dancing hall, if his new satin coat and 'broidered waistcoat did not call for

It was well known that she had always viewed her goodnatured husband as the most willing and most

natural butt for her caustic wit; she still was fond of aiming a shaft or two at him, and he was still equally

ready to let the shaft glance harmlessly against the flawless shield of his own imperturbable good humour,

but now, contrary to all precedent, to all usages and customs of London society, Marguerite seldom was seen

at routs or at the opera without her husband; she accompanied him to all the races, and even one night oh

Society shuddered and wondered! tried to put Lady Blakeney's sudden infatuation down to foreign

eccentricity, and finally consoled itself with the thought that after all this nonsense could not last, and that she

was too clever a woman and he too perfect a gentleman to keep up this abnormal state of things for any

In the meanwhile, the ladies averred that this matrimonial love was a very onesided affair. No one could

assert that Sir Percy was anything but politely indifferent to his wife's obvious attentions. His lazy eyes never

once lighted up when she entered a ballroom, and there were those who knew for a fact that her ladyship

spent many lonely days in her beautiful home at Richmond whilst her lord and master absented himself with

His presence at the Gala had been a surprise to everyone, for all thought him still away, fishing in Scotland or

shooting in Yorkshire, anywhere save close to the apron strings of his doting wife. He himself seemed

conscious of the fact that he had not been expected at this endofsummer fete, for as he strolled forward to

meet his wife and Juliette Marny, and acknowledge with a bow here and a nod there the many greetings from

subordinates and friends, there was quite an apologetic air about his goodlooking face, and an obvious

"Oh, Sir Percy!" she said gaily, "and pray have you seen the show? I vow 'tis the maddest, merriest throng

I've seen for many a day. Nay! but for the sighs and shudders of my poor little Juliette, I should be enjoying

"Do not shame me before Sir Percy," murmured the young girl, casting shy glances at the elegant cavalier

before her, vainly trying to find in the indolent, foppish personality of this society butterfly, some trace of the

daring man of action, the bold adventurer who had snatched her and her lover from out the very tumbril that

"I know I ought to be gay," she continued with an attempt at a smile, "I ought to forget everything, save what

"Lud! and to think of all that I ought not to forget!" he said loudly. "Tony here has been clamouring for iced

punch this last halfhour, and I promised to find a booth wherein the noble liquid is properly dispensed.

Within half an hour from now His Royal Highness will be here. I assure you, Mlle. Juliette, that from that

time onwards I have to endure the qualms of the damned, for the heir to Great Britain's throne always

contrives to be thirsty when I am satiated, which is Tantalus' torture magnified a thousandfold, or to be

satiated when my parched palate most requires solace; in either case I am a most pitiable man."

"In either case you contrive to talk a deal of nonsense, Sir Percy," said Marguerite gaily.

"Come and view the booths with me," she said. "I am dying for a sight of the fat woman and the lean man,

the pigfaced child, the dwarfs and the giants. There! Monsieur Deroulede," she added, turning to the young

Frenchman who was standing close beside her, "take Mlle. Juliette to hear the clavecin players. I vow she is

The gailydressed group was breaking up. Juliette and Paul Deroulede were only too ready to stroll off

arminarm together, and Sir Andrew Ffoulkes was ever in attendance on his young wife.

"I could not, dear. I arrived at my lodgings in town, looking a disgusting object. ... I could not appear before

you until I had washed some of the French mud from off my person. Then His Royal Highness demanded my

presence. He wanted news of the Duchesse de Verneuil, whom I had the honour of escorting over from

France. By the time I had told him all that he wished to hear, there was no chance of finding you at home, and

Marguerite said nothing for a moment, but her foot impatiently tapped the ground, and her fingers were

fidgeting with the gold fringe of her scarf. The look of joy, of exquisite happiness, seemed to have suddenly

He was looking down at her, smiling goodnaturedly, a trifle sarcastically perhaps, and the frown on her face

"These anxieties are terrible to bear. You have been twice over to France within the last month, dealing with

your life as lightly as if it did not now belong to me. When will you give up these mad adventures, and leave

others to fight their own battles and to save their own lives as best they may?"

She had spoken with increased vehemence, although her voice was scarce raised above a whisper. Even in

her sudden, passionate anger she was on her guard not to betray his secret. He did not reply immediately, but

seemed to be studying the beautiful face on which heartbroken anxiety was now distinctly imprinted.

Then he turned and looked at the solitary booth in the distance, across the frontal of which a large placard had

been recently affixed, bearing the words: "Come and see the true representation of the guillotine!"

In front of the booth a man dressed in ragged breeches, with Phrygian cap on his head, adorned with a

"Come in and see, come in and see! the only realistic presentation of the original guillotine. Hundreds perish

in Paris every day! Come and see! Come and see! the perfectly vivid performance of what goes on hourly in

Marguerite had followed the direction of Sir Percy's eyes. She too was looking at the booth, she heard the

man's monotonous, raucous cries. She gave a slight shudder and once more looked imploringly at her

husband. His facethough outwardly as lazy and calm as before had a strange set look about the mouth

and firm jaw, and his slender hand, the hand of a dandy accustomed to handle cards and dice and to play

lightly with the foils, was clutched tightly beneath the folds of the priceless Mechlin frills.

It was but a momentary stiffening of the whole powerful frame, an instant's flash of the ruling passion hidden

within that very secretive soul. Then he once more turned towards her, the rigid lines of his face relaxed, he

broke into a pleasant laugh, and with the most elaborate and most courtly bow he took her hand in his and

"When your ladyship has ceased to be the most admired woman in Europe, namely, when I am in my grave."

There was no time to say more then. For the laughing, chatting groups of friends had once more closed up

round Marguerite and her husband, and she, ever on the alert, gave neither look nor sign that any serious

Whatever she might feel or dread with regard to the foolhardy adventures in which he still persistently

embarked, no member of the League ever guarded the secret of his chief more loyally than did Marguerite

Though her heart overflowed with a passionate pride in her husband, she was clever enough to conceal every

emotion save that which Nature had insisted on imprinting in her face, her present radiant happiness and her

irresistible love. And thus before the world she kept up that bantering way with him, which had characterized

her earlier matrimonial life, that goodnatured, easy contempt which he had so readily accepted in those

days, and which their entourage would have missed and would have enquired after, if she had changed her

In her heart she knew full well that within Percy Blakeney's soul she had a great and powerful rival: his wild,

mad, passionate love of adventure. For it he would sacrifice everything, even his life; she dared not ask

Twice in a few weeks he had been over to France: every time he went she could not know if she would ever

see him again. She could not imagine how the French Committee of Public Safety could so clumsily allow

the hated Scarlet Pimpernel to slip through its fingers. But she never attempted either to warn him or to beg

him not to go. When he brought Paul Deroulede and Juliette Marny over from France, her heart went out to

the two young people in sheer gladness and pride because of his precious life, which he had risked for them.

She loved Juliette for the dangers Percy had passed, for the anxieties she herself had endured; only today, in

the midst of this beautiful sunshine, this joy of the earth, of summer and of the sky, she had suddenly felt a

mad, overpowering anxiety, a deadly hatred of the wild adventurous life, which took him so often away from

her side. His pleasant, bantering reply precluded her following up the subject, whilst the merry chatter of

But she seemed now to feel the want of being alone, and, somehow, that distant booth with its flaring placard,

Instinctively she bent her steps thither, and equally instinctively the idle throng of her friends followed her.

Sir Percy alone had halted in order to converse with Lord Hastings, who had just arrived.

"Surely, Lady Blakeney, you have no though of patronising that gruesome spectacle?" said Lord Anthony

Dewhurst, as Marguerite almost mechanically had paused within a few yards of the solitary booth.

"I don't know," she said, with enforced gaiety, "the place seems to attract me. And I need not look at the

spectacle," she added significantly, as she pointed to a roughlyscribbled notice at the entrance of the tent:

"There's a goodlooking woman who sings, and a hideous mechanical toy that moves," said one of the young

men in the crowd. "It is very dark and close inside the tent. I was lured in there for my sins, and was in a

"Then it must be my sins that are helping to lure me too at the present moment," said Marguerite lightly. "I

pray you all to let me go in there. I want to hear the goodlooking woman sing, even if I do not see the

"Nay! I would rather go in alone," she replied a trifle impatiently. "I beg of you not to heed my whim, and to

It had been bad manners to insist. Marguerite, with a little comprehensive nod to all her friends, left the

young cavaliers still protesting and quickly passed beneath the roughly constructed doorway that gave access

A man, dressed in theatrical rags and wearing the characteristic scarlet cap, stood immediately within the

"For the starving poor of Paris," he drawled out in nasal monotonous tones the moment he caught sight of

Marguerite and of her rich gown. She dropped some gold into the box and then passed on.

The interior of the booth was dark and lonelylooking after the glare of the hot September sun and the noisy

crowd that thronged the sward outside. Evidently a performance had just taken place on the elevated platform

beyond, for a few yokels seemed to be lingering in a desultory manner as if preparatory to going out.

A few disjointed comments reached Marguerite's ears as she approached, and the small groups parted to

allow her to pass. One or two women gaped in astonishment at her beautiful dress, whilst others bobbed a

The mechanical toy arrester her attention immediately. She did not find it as gruesome as she expected, only

singularly grotesque, with all those wooden little figures in their quaint, arrested action.

She drew nearer to have a better look, and the yokels who had lingered behind, paused, wondering if she

"Her ladyship was born in France," murmured one of the men, close to her, "she would know if the thing

"Lud love us all!" said a buxom wench, who was clinging to the arm of a nervouslooking youth, "I believe

On the elevated platform at the further end of the tent, a slim figure had just made its appearance, that of a

young woman dressed in peculiarly sombre colours, and with a black lace hood thrown lightly over her head.

Marguerite thought that the face seemed familiar to her, and she also noticed that the woman carried a large

There was a general exodus the moment she appeared. The Richmond yokels did not like the look of that

reticule. They felt that sufficient demand had already been made upon their scant purses, considering the

meagerness of the entertainment, and they dreaded being lured to further extravagance.

When Marguerite turned away from the mechanical toy, the last of the little crowd had disappeared, and she

"For the poor of Paris, Madame," said the latter mechanically, holding out her reticule.

Marguerite was looking at her intently. The face certainly seemed familiar, recalling to her mind the faroff

days in Paris, before she married. Some young actress no doubt driven out of France by that terrible turmoil

which had caused so much sorrow and so much suffering. The face was pretty, the figure slim and elegant,

and the look of obvious sadness in the dark, almondshaped eyes was calculated to inspire sympathy and

Yet, strangely enough, Lady Blakeney felt repelled and chilled by this sombrelydressed young person: an

instinct, which she could not have explained and which she felt had no justification, warned her that

somehow or other, the sadness was not quite genuine, the appeal for the poor not quite heartfelt.

Nevertheless, she took out her purse, and dropping some few sovereigns into the capacious reticule, she said

"I hope that you are satisfied with your day's work, Madame; I fear me our British country folk hold the

"Oh, Madame!" she said with a tone of great dejection, "one does what one can for one's starving

countrymen, but it is very hard to elicit sympathy over here for them, poor dears!"

"You are a Frenchwoman, of course," rejoined Marguerite, who had noted that though the woman spoke

English with a very pronounced foreign accent, she had nevertheless expressed herself with wonderful

"I go where I think there is a chance of earning a little money for the cause which I have at heart," replied the

Frenchwoman with the same gentle simplicity, the same tone of mournful dejection.

What she said was undoubtedly noble and selfless. Lady Blakeney felt in her heart that her keenest sympathy

should have gone out to this young womanpretty, dainty, hardly more than a girl who seemed to be

devoting her young life in a purely philanthropic and unselfish cause. And yet in spite of herself, Marguerite

seemed unable to shake off that curious sense of mistrust which had assailed her from the first, nor that

feeling of unreality and staginess with which the Frenchwoman's attitude had originally struck her.

Yet she tried to be kind and to be cordial, tried to hide that coldness in her manner which she felt was

"It is all very praiseworthy on your part, Madame," she said somewhat lamely. "Madame ...?" she added

"Candeille?" exclaimed Marguerite with sudden alacrity, "Candeille ... surely ..."

"Ah! then I know why your face from the first seemed familiar to me," said Marguerite, this time with

unaffected cordiality. "I must have applauded you many a time in the olden days. I am an ex colleague, you

"I knew that," said Desiree Candeille, "and half hoped that you would remember me."

"Nay! who could forget Demoiselle Candeille, the most popular star in the theatrical firmament?"

"It was a choice for me between exile from France and the guillotine," rejoined Candeille simply.

"Surely not?" queried Marguerite with a touch of genuine sympathy. With characteristic impulsiveness, she

had now cast aside her former misgivings: she had conquered her mistrust, at any rate had relegated it to the

background of her mind. This woman was a colleague: she had suffered and was in distress; she had every

claim, therefore, on a compatriot's help and friendship. She stretched out her hand and took Desiree

Candeille's in her own; she forced herself to feel nothing but admiration for this young woman, whose whole

"I don't know why I should sadden you with my story," rejoined Desiree Candeille after a slight pause, during

which she seemed to be waging war against her own emotion. "It is not a very interesting one. Hundreds have

suffered as I did. I had enemies in Paris. God knows how that happened. I had never harmed anyone, but

someone must have hated me and must have wished me ill. Evil is so easily wrought in France these days. A

denunciation a perquisitionan accusation then the flight from Paris ... the forged passports ... the

disguise ... the bribe ... the hardships ... the squalid hiding places. ... Oh! I have gone through it all ... tasted

every kind of humiliation ... endured every kind of insult. ... Remember! that I was not a noble aristocrat ... a

Duchess or an impoverished Countess ..." she added with marked bitterness, "or perhaps the English cavaliers

whom the popular voice has called the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel would have taken some interest in

me. I was only a poor actress and had to find my way out of France alone, or else perish on the guillotine."

"Tell me how you got on, once you were in England," she continued after a while, seeing that Desiree

"I had a few engagements at first," replied the Frenchwoman. "I played at Sadler's Wells and with Mrs.

Jordan at Covent Garden, but the Aliens' Bill put an end to my chances of livelihood. No manger cared to

"Oh! I had a few jewels and I sold them. ... A little money and I live on that. ... But when I played at Covent

Garden I contrived to send part of my salary over to some of the poorer clubs of Paris. My heart aches for

those that are starving. ... Poor wretches, they are misguided and misled by selfseeking demagogues. ... It

hurts me to feel that I can do nothing more to help them ... and eases my self respect if, by singing at public

She had spoken with everincreasing passion and vehemence. Marguerite, with eyes fixed into vacancy,

seeing neither the speaker nor her surroundings, seeing only visions of those same poor wreckages of

humanity, who had been goaded into thirst for blood, when their shrunken bodies should have been

clamouring for healthy food,Marguerite thus absorbed, had totally forgotten her earlier prejudices and now

completely failed to note all that was unreal, stagy, theatrical, in the oratorical declamations of the exactress

Preeminently true and loyal herself in spite of the many deceptions and treacheries which she had witnessed

in her life, she never looked for falsehood or for cant in others. Even now she only saw before her a woman

who had been wrongfully persecuted, who had suffered and had forgiven those who had caused her to suffer.

She bitterly accused herself for her original mistrust of this noblehearted, unselfish woman, who was

content to tramp around in an alien country, bartering her talents for a few coins, in order that some of those,

who were the originators of her sorrows, might have bread to eat and a bed in which to sleep.

"Mademoiselle," she said warmly, "truly you shame me, who am also Frenchborn, with the many sacrifices

you so nobly make for those who should have first claim on my own sympathy. Believe me, if I have not

done as much as duty demanded of me in the cause of my starving compatriots, it has not been for lack of

goodwill. Is there any way now," she added eagerly, "in which I can help you? Putting aside the question of

money, wherein I pray you to command my assistance, what can I do to be of useful service to you?"

"It is perhaps difficult to express ... but people say I have a good voice ... I sing some French ditties ... they

are a novelty in England, I think. ... If I could sing them in fashionable salons ... I might perhaps ..."

"Nay! you shall sing in fashionable salons," exclaimed Marguerite eagerly, "you shall become the fashion,

and I'll swear the Prince of Wales himself shall bid you sing at Carlton House ... and you shall name your

own fee, Mademoiselle ... and London society shall vie with the elite of Bath, as to which shall lure you to its

most frequented routs. ... There! there! you shall make a fortune for the Paris poor ... and to prove to you that

I mean every word I say, you shall begin your triumphant career in my own salon tomorrow night. His

Royal Highness will be present. You shall sing your most engaging songs ... and for your fee you must accept

a hundred guineas, which you shall send to the poorest workman's club in Paris in the name of Sir Percy and

"I'll accept gladly ... but ... you will understand ... I am not very old," said Candeille quaintly, "I ... I am only

"I understand," replied Marguerite gently, "that you are far too pretty to frequent the world all alone, and that

you have a mother, a sister or a friend ... which? ... whom you would wish to escort you to morrow. Is that

"Nay," rejoined the actress, with marked bitterness, "I have neither mother, nor sister, but our Revolutionary

Government, with tardy compassion for those it has so relentlessly driven out of France, has deputed a

representative of theirs in England to look after the interests of French subjects over here1"

"They have realised over in Paris that my life here has been devoted to the welfare of the poor people of

France. The representative whom the government has sent to England is specially interested in me and in my

work. He is a standby for me in case of trouble ... in case of insults ... A woman alone is oft subject to those,

even at the hands of socalled gentlemen ... and the official representative of my own country becomes in

Desiree Candeille's almondshaped eyes were fixed upon a distant part of the tent, behind Lady Blakeney in

the direction of the main entrance to the booth. There was a slight pause after she had spoken and then

Marguerite slowly turned in order to see who this official representative of France was, whom at the young

actress' request she had just agreed to receive in her house. In the doorway of the tent, framed by its gaudy

draperies, and with the streaming sunshine as a brilliant background behind him, stood the sableclad figure

Marguerite neither moved nor spoke. She felt two pairs of eyes fixed upon her, and with all the strength of

will at her command she forced the very blood in her veins not to quit her cheeks, forced her eyelids not to

betray by a single quiver the icy pang of a deadly premonition which at sight of Chauvelin seemed to have

There he stood before her, dressed in his usual somber garments, a look almost of humility in those keen grey

eyes of his, which a year ago on the cliffs of Calais had peered down at her with such relentless hate.

Strange that at this moment she should have felt an instinct of fear. What cause had she to throw more than a

pitiful glance at the man who had tried so cruelly to wrong her, and who had so signally failed?

Having bowed very low and very respectfully, Chauvelin advanced towards her, with all the airs of a

She could scarcely believe her ears, or trust her eyes. It seemed impossible that a man could have so changed

in a few months. He even looked shorter than last year, more shrunken within himself. His hair, which he

"Shall I withdraw?" he added after a pause, seeing that Marguerite made no movement to return his

"It would be best, perhaps," she replied coldly. "You and I, Monsieur Chauvelin, have so little to say to one

"Very little indeed," he rejoined quietly; "the triumphant and happy have ever very little to say to the

humiliated and the defeated. But I had hoped that Lady Blakeney in the midst of her victory would have

"That is beyond my power. But believe me, I have ceased to think of the infinite wrong which you tried to do

"I had to serve my country as best I could. I meant no harm to your brother. He is safe in England now. And

She tried to read his face, tried to discover in those inscrutable eyes of his, some hidden meaning to his

words. Instinct had warned her of course that this man could be nothing but an enemy, always and at all

times. But he seemed so broken, so abject now, that contempt for his dejected attitude, and for the defeat

which had been inflicted on him, chased the last remnant of fear from her heart.

"I did not even succeed in harming that enigmatical personage," continued Chauvelin with the same

selfabasement. "Sir Percy Blakeney, you remember, threw himself across my plans, quite innocently of

course. I failed where you succeeded. Luck has deserted me. Our government offered me a humble post,

away from France. I look after the interests of French subjects settled in England. My days of power are over.

My failure is complete. I do not complain, for I failed in a combat of wits ... but I failed ... I failed ... I failed

... I am almost a fugitive and I am quite disgraced. That is my present history, Lady Blakeney," he concluded,

taking once more a step towards her, "and you will understand that it would be a solace if you extended your

hand to me just once more, and let me feel that although you would never willingly look upon my face again,

you have enough womanly tenderness in you to force your heart to forgiveness and mayhap to pity."

Marguerite hesitated. He held out his hand and her warm, impulsive nature prompted her to be kind. But

instinct would not be gainsaid: a curious instinct to which she refused to respond. What had she to fear from

this miserable and cringing little worm who had not even in him the pride of defeat? What harm could he do

to her, or to those whom she loved? Her brother was in England! Her husband! Bah! not the enmity of the

Nay! That instinct, which caused her to draw away from Chauvelin, as she would from a venomous asp, was

certainly not fear. It was hate! She hated this man! Hated him for all that she had suffered because of him; for

that terrible night on the cliffs of Calais! The peril to her husband who had become so infinitely dear! The

Hate? Does one hate a slimy but harmless toad or a stinging fly? It seemed ridiculous, contemptible and

pitiable to think of hate in connection with the melancholy figure of this discomfited intriguer, this fallen

He was holding out his hand to her. If she placed even the tips of her fingers upon it, she would be making

the compact of mercy and forgiveness which he was asking of her. The woman Desiree Candeille roused

within her the last lingering vestige of her slumbering wrath. False, theatrical and stagyas Marguerite had

originally suspectedshe appeared to have been in league with Chauvelin to bring about this undesirable

Lady Blakeney turned from one to another, trying to conceal her contempt beneath a mask of passionless

indifference. Candeille was standing close by, looking obviously distressed and not a little puzzled. An

instant's reflection was sufficient to convince Marguerite that the whilom actress of the Varietes Theatre was

obviously ignorant of the events to which Chauvelin had been alluding: she was, therefore, of no serious

consequence, a mere tool, mayhap, in the exambassador's hands. At the present moment she looked like a

Marguerite had promised her help and protection, had invited her to her house, and offered her a munificent

gift in aid of a deserving cause. She was too proud to go back now on that promise, to rescind the contract

because of an unexplainable fear. With regard to Chauvelin, the matter stood differently: she had made him

no direct offer of hospitality: she had agreed to receive in her house the official chaperone of an unprotected

girl, but she was not called upon to show cordiality to her own and her husband's most deadly enemy.

She was ready to dismiss him out of her life with a cursory word of pardon and a halfexpressed promise of

oblivion: on that understanding and that only she was ready to let her hand rest for the space of one second in

She had looked upon her fallen enemy, seen his discomfiture and his humiliation! Very well! Now let him

pass out of her life, all the more easily, since the last vision of him would be one of such utter abjection as

All these thoughts, feelings and struggles passed through her mind with great rapidity. Her hesitation had

lasted less than five seconds: Chauvelin still wore the look of doubting entreaty with which he had first

begged permission to take her hand in his. With an impulsive toss of the head, she had turned straight

towards him, ready with the phrase with which she meant to dismiss him from her sight now and forever,

when suddenly a wellknown laugh broke in upon her ear, and a lazy, drawly voice said pleasantly:

"La! I vow the air is fit to poison you! Your Royal Highness, I entreat, let us turn our backs upon these gates

of Inferno, where lost souls would feel more at home than doth your humble servant."

The next moment His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales had entered the tent, closely followed by Sir Percy

It was in truth a strange situation, this chance meeting between Percy Blakeney and exAmbassador

Marguerite looked up at her husband. She saw him shrug his broad shoulders as he first caught sight of

Chauvelin, and glance down in his usual lazy, goodhumoured manner at the shrunken figure of the silent

Frenchman. The words she meant to say never crossed her lips; she was waiting to hear what the two men

The instinct of the grande dame in her, the fashionable lady accustomed to the exigencies of society, just gave

her sufficient presence of mind to make the requisite low curtsey before His Royal Highness. But the Prince,

forgetting his accustomed gallantry, was also absorbed in the little scene before him. He, too, was looking

from the sableclad figure of Chauvelin to that of gorgeously arrayed Sir Percy. He, too, like Marguerite, was

wondering what was passing behind the low, smooth forehead of that inimitable dandy, what behind the

Of the five persons thus present in the dark and stuffy booth, certainly Sir Percy Blakeney seemed the least

perturbed. He had paused just long enough to allow Chauvelin to become fully conscious of a feeling of

supreme irritation and annoyance, then he strolled up to the ex ambassador, with hand outstretched and the

"Ha!" he said, with his usual halfshy, halfpleasanttempered smile, "my engaging friend from France! I

The cheerful voice seemed to ease the tension. Marguerite sighed a sigh of relief. After all, what was more

natural than that Percy with his amazing fund of pleasant irresponsibility should thus greet the man who had

once vowed to bring him to the guillotine? Chauvelin, himself, accustomed by now to the audacious coolness

of his enemy, was scarcely taken by surprise. He bowed low to His Highness, who, vastly amused at

Blakeney's sally, was inclined to be gracious to everyone, even though the personality of Chauvelin as a

wellknown leader of the regicide government was inherently distasteful to him. But the Prince saw in the

wizened little figure before him an obvious butt for his friend Blakeney's impertinent shafts, and although

historians have been unable to assert positively whether or no George Prince of Wales knew aught of Sir

Percy's dual life, yet there is no doubt that he was always ready to enjoy a situation which brought about the

"I, too, have not met M. Chauvelin for many a long month," said His Royal Highness with an obvious show

of irony. "And I mistake not, sir, you left my father's court somewhat abruptly last year."

"Nay, your Royal Highness," said Percy gaily, "my friend Monsieur ... er ... Chaubertin and I had serious

business to discuss, which could only be dealt with in France. ... Am I not right, Monsieur?"

"We had to discuss abominable soup in Calais, had we not?" continued Blakeney in the same tone of easy

banter, "and wine that I vowed was vinegar. Monsieur ... er ... Chaubertin ... no, no, I beg pardon ...

Chauvelin ... Monsieur Chauvelin and I quite agreed upon that point. The only matter on which we were not

"Yes, your Royal Highness ... snuff ... Monsieur Chauvelin here hadif I may be allowed to say soso

vitiated a taste in snuff that he prefers it with an admixture of pepper ... Is that not so, Monsieur ... er ...

He was determined not to lose his temper and looked urbane and pleasant, whilst his impudent enemy was

enjoying a joke at his expense. Marguerite the while had not taken her eyes off the keen, shrewd face. Whilst

the three men talked, she seemed suddenly to have lost her sense of the reality of things. The present situation

appeared to her strangely familiar, like a dream which she had dreamt oft times before.

Suddenly it became absolutely clear to her that the whole scene had been arranged and planned: the booth

with its flaring placard, Demoiselle Candeille soliciting her patronage, her invitation to the young actress,

Chauvelin's sudden appearance, all, all had been concocted and arranged, not here, not in England at all, but

out there in Paris, in some dark gathering of bloodthirsty ruffians, who had invented a final trap for the

destruction of the bold adventurer, who went by the name of the Scarlet Pimpernel.

And she also was only a puppet, enacting a part which had been written for her: she had acted just as THEY

had anticipated, had spoken the very words they had meant her to say: and when she looked at Percy, he

seemed supremely ignorant of it all, unconscious of this trap of the existence of which everyone here present

was aware, save indeed himself. She would have fought against this weird feeling of obsession, of being a

mechanical toy would up to do certain things, but this she could not do; her will appeared paralysed, her

As in a dream she heard His Royal Highness ask for the name of the young actress who was soliciting alms

That also had been prearranged. His Royal Highness for the moment was also a puppet, made to dance, to

speak and to act as Chauvelin and his colleagues over in France had decided that he should. Quite

mechanically Marguerite introduced Demoiselle Candeille to the Prince's gracious notice.

"If your Highness will permit," she said, "Mademoiselle Candeille will give us some of her charming old

"By all means! By all means!" said the Prince. "I used to know some in my childhood days. Charming and

poetic. ... I know. ... I know. ... We shall be delighted to hear Mademoiselle sing, eh, Blakeney?" he added

goodhumouredly, "and for your rout tomorrow will you not also invite M. Chauvelin?"

"Nay! but that goes without saying, your Royal Highness," responded Sir Percy, with hospitable alacrity and

a most approved bow directed at his archenemy. "We shall expect M. Chauvelin. He and I have not met for

Her origin was of the humblest, for her motherso it was said had been kitchenmaid in the household of

the Duc de Marny, but Desiree had received some kind of education, and though she began life as a dresser in

one of the minor theatres of Paris, she became ultimately one of its most popular stars.

She was small and dark, dainty in her manner and ways, and with a graceful little figure, peculiarly supple

and sinuous. Her humble origin certainly did not betray itself in her hands and feet, which were exquisite in

Her hair was soft and glossy, always free from powder, and cunningly arranged so as to slightly overshadow

The chin was small and round, the mouth extraordinarily red, the neck slender and long. But she was not

pretty: so said all the women. Her skin was rather coarse in texture and darkish in colour, her eyes were

narrow and slightly turned upwards at the corners; no! she was distinctly not pretty.

Yet she pleased the men! Perhaps because she was so artlessly determined to please them. The women said

that Demoiselle Candeille never left a man alone until she had succeeded in captivating his fancy if only for

But for five minutes she was determined to hold any man's complete attention, and to exact his admiration.

Therefore the women hated her. The men were amused. It is extremely pleasant to have one's admiration

And Candeille could be extremely amusing, and as Madelon in Moliere's "Les Precieuses" was quite

This, however, was in the olden days, just before Paris went quite mad, before the Reign of Terror had set in,

Candeille had taken it into her frolicsome little head that she would like to go to London. The idea was of

course in the nature of an experiment. Those dull English people over the water knew so little of what good

acting really meant. Tragedy? Well! passons! Their heavy, largeboned actresses might manage one or two

big scenes where a commanding presence and a powerful voice would not come amiss, and where prominent

Ah! ca non, par example! Demoiselle Candeille had seen several English gentlemen and ladies in those same

olden days at the Tuileries, but she really could not imagine any of them enacting the piquant scenes of

Demoiselle Candeille thought of every Englishborn individual as having very large teeth. Now large teeth

do not lend themselves to wellspoken comedy scenes, to smiles, or to double entendre.

Her own teeth were exceptionally small and white, and very sharp, like those of a kitten.

Yes! Demoiselle Candeille thought it would be extremely interesting to go to London and to show to a nation

Permission to depart from Paris was easy to obtain. In fact the fair lady had never really found it difficult to

In this case she had plenty of friends in high places. Marat was still alive and a great lover of the theatre.

Tallien was a personal admirer of hers, Deputy Dupont would do anything she asked.

She wanted to act in London, at a theatre called Drury Lane. She wanted to play Moliere in England in

French, and had already spoken with several of her colleagues, who were ready to join her. They would give

public representations in aid of the starving population of France; there were plenty of Socialistic clubs in

London quite Jacobin and Revolutionary in tendency: their members would give her full support.

She would be serving her country and her countrymen and incidentally see something of the world, and

Then she thought of Marguerite St. Just, once of the Maison Moliere, who had captivated an English milor of

enormous wealth. Demoiselle Candeille had never been of the Maison Moliere; she had been the leading star

of one of the minor yet muchfrequentedtheatres of Paris, but she felt herself quite able and ready to

captivate some other unattached milor, who would load her with English money and incidentally bestow an

The experiment, however, had not proved an unmitigated success. At first she and her company did obtain a

few engagements at one or two of the minor theatres, to give representations of some of the French classical

But these never quite became the fashion. The feeling against France and all her doings was far too keen in

that very set, which Demoiselle Candeille had desired to captivate with her talents, to allow of the English

jeunesse doree to flock and see Moliere played in French, by a French troupe, whilst Candeille's own

One section of thesethe aristocrats and emigreslooked upon the actress who was a friend of all the

Jacobins in Paris as nothing better than canaille. They sedulously ignored her presence in this country, and

The other sectionchiefly consisting of agents and spies of the Revolutionary Governmentshe would

gladly have ignored. They had at first made a constant demand on her purse, her talents and her time: then

she grew tired of them, and felt more and more chary of being identified with a set which was in such

illodour with that very same jeunesse doree whom Candeille had desired to please.

In her own country she was and always had been a good republican: Marat had given her her first start in life

by his violent praises of her talent in his widelycirculated paper; she had been associated in Paris with the

whole coterie of artists and actors: every one of them republican to a man. But in London, although one might

be snubbed by the emigres and aristocratsit did not do to be mixed up with the sansculotte journalists and

pamphleteers who haunted the Socialistic clubs of the English capital, and who were the prime organizers of

all those seditious gatherings and treasonable unions that caused Mr. Pitt and his colleagues so much trouble

One by one, Desiree Candeille's comrades, male and female, who had accompanied her to England, returned

to their own country. When war was declared, some of them were actually sent back under the provisions of

Her old friends in Paris had managed to advise her that she would not be very welcome there just now. The

sansculotte journalists of England, the agents and spies of the Revolutionary Government, had taken their

revenge of the frequent snubs inflicted upon them by the young actress, and in those days the fact of being

unwelcome in France was apt to have a more lurid and more dangerous significant.

She trusted to her own powers of intrigue, and her wellknown fascinations, to reconquer the friendship of

the Jacobin clique, and she once more turned her attention to the affiliated Socialistic clubs of England. But

between the proverbial two stools, Demoiselle Candeille soon came to the ground. Her machinations became

known in official quarters, her connection with all the seditious clubs of London was soon bruited abroad,

and one evening Desiree found herself confronted with a document addressed to her: "From the Office of His

Majesty's Privy Seal," wherein it was set forth that, pursuant to the statute 33 George III. cap. 5, she, Desiree

Candeille, a French subject now resident in England, was required to leave this kingdom by order of His

Majesty within seven days, and that in the event of the said Desiree Candeille refusing to comply with this

order, she would be liable to commitment, brought to trial and sentenced to imprisonment for a month, and

afterwards to removal within a limited time under pain of transportation for life.

This meant that Demoiselle Candeille had exactly seven days in which to make complete her reconciliation

with her former friends who now ruled Paris and France with a relentless and perpetually bloodstained hand.

No wonder that during the night which followed the receipt of this momentous document, Demoiselle

She dared not go back to France, she was ordered out of England! What was to become of her?

This was just three days before the eventful afternoon of the Richmond Gala, and twentyfour hours after

exAmbassador Chauvelin had landed in England. Candeille and Chauvelin had since then met at the "Cercle

des Jacobins Francais" in Soho Street, and now fair Desiree found herself in lodgings in Richmond, the

evening of the day following the Gala, feeling that her luck had not altogether deserted her.

One conversation with Citizen Chauvelin had brought the fickle jade back to Demoiselle Candeilles' service.

Nay, more, the young actress saw before her visions of intrigue, of dramatic situations, of pleasant little bits

of revenge;all of which was meat and drink and air to breathe for Mademoiselle Desiree.

She was to sing in one of the most fashionable salons in England: that was very pleasant. The Prince of Wales

would hear and see her! that opened out a vista of delightful possibilities! And all she had to do was to act a

part dictated to her by Citizen Chauvelin, to behave as he directed, to move in the way he wished! Well! that

was easy enough, since the part which she would have to play was one peculiarly suited to her talents.

She looked at herself critically in the glass. Her maid Fanchon a little French waif picked up in the slums

It had just arrived by messenger: a large morocco case, which now lay open on the dressing table, displaying

Candeille scarcely dared to touch it, and yet it was for her. Citizen Chauvelin had sent a note with it.

"Citizeness Candeille will please accept this gift from the government of France in acknowledgment of useful

The note was signed with Robespierre's own name, followed by that of Citizen Chauvelin. The morocco case

"For useful services past and to come!" and there were promises of still further rewards, a complete pardon

for all defalcations, a place within the charmed circle of the Comedie Francaise, a grand pageant and

apotheosis with Citizeness Candeille impersonating the Goddess of Reason, in the midst of a grand national

fete, and the acclamations of excited Paris: and all in exchange for the enactment of a partsimple and

How strange! how inexplicable! Candeille took the necklace up in her trembling fingers and gazed musingly

at the priceless gems. She had seen the jewels before, long, long ago! round the neck of the Duchesse de

Marny, in whose service her own mother had been. Sheas a childhad often gazed at and admired the

great lady, who seemed like a wonderful fairy from an altogether world, to the poor little kitchen slut.

How wonderful are the vagaries of fortune! Desiree Candeille, the kitchenmaid's daughter, now wearing her

exmistress' jewels. She supposed that these had been confiscated when the last of the Marnys the girl,

Juliettehad escaped from France! confiscated and now sent to herCandeilleas a reward or as a bribe!

In either case they were welcome. The actress' vanity was soothed. She knew Juliette Marny was in England,

and that she would meet her to night at Lady Blakeney's. After the many snubs which she had endured from

French aristocrats settled in England, the actress felt that she was about to enjoy an evening of triumph.

The intrigue excited her. She did not quite know what schemes Chauvelin was aiming at, what ultimate end

he had had in view when he commanded her services and taught her the part which he wished her to play.

That the schemes were vast and the end mighty, she could not doubt. The reward she had received was proof

Little Fanchon stood there in speechless admiration, whilst her mistress still fondly fingered the magnificent

"Mademoiselle will wear the diamond tonight?" she asked with evident anxiety: she would have been

bitterly disappointed to have seen the beautiful thing once more relegated to its dark morocco case.

"Oh, yes, Fanchon!" said Candeille with a sigh of great satisfaction; "see that they are fastened quite securely,

She put the necklace round her shapely neck and Fanchon looked to see that the clasp was quite secure.

"That is M. Chauvelin come to fetch me with the chaise. Am I quite ready, Fanchon?" asked Desiree

"Oh yes, Mademoiselle!" sighed the little maid; "and Mademoiselle looks very beautiful tonight."

"Lady Blakeney is very beautiful too, Fanchon," rejoined the actress naively, "but I wonder if she will wear

The knocking at the street door was repeated. Candeille took a final, satisfied survey of herself in the glass.

She knew her part and felt that she had dressed well for it. She gave a final, affectionate little tap to the

diamonds round her neck, took her cloak and hood from Fanchon, and was ready to go.

There are several accounts extant, in the fashionable chronicles of the time, of the gorgeous reception given

Never had the spacious apartments of Blakeney Manor looked more resplendent than on this memorable

occasionmemorable because of the events which brought the brilliant evening to a close.

The Prince of Wales had come over by water from Carlton House; the Royal Princesses came early, and all

fashionable London was there, chattering and laughing, displaying elaborate gowns and priceless jewels

dancing, flirting, listening to the strains of the string band, or strolling listlessly in the gardens, where the late

But Marguerite was nervous and agitated. Strive how she might, she could not throw off that foreboding of

something evil to come, which had assailed her from the first moment when she met Chauvelin face to face.

That unaccountable feeling of unreality was still upon her, that sense that she, and the woman Candeille,

Percy and even His Royal Highness were, for the time being, the actors in a play written and stagemanaged

by Chauvelin. The exambassador's humility, his offers of friendship, his quietude under Sir Percy's

goodhumoured banter, everything was a sham. Marguerite knew it; her womanly instinct, her passionate

love, all cried out to her in warning: but there was that in her husband's nature which rendered her powerless

Just before her guests had begun to assemble, she had been alone with him for a few minutes. She had

entered the room in which he sat, looking radiantly beautiful in a shimmering gown of white and silver, with

Moments like this, when she was alone with him, were the joy of her life. Then and then only did she see him

as he really was, with that wistful tenderness in his deepset eyes, that occasional flash of passion from

beneath the lazilydrooping lids. For a few minutesseconds, mayhap the spirit of the reckless

adventurer was laid to rest, relegated into the furthermost background of this senses by the powerful emotions

Then he would seize her in his arms, and hold her to him, with a strange longing to tear from out his heart all

other thoughts, feelings and passions save those which made him a slave to her beauty and her smiles.

"Percy!" she whispered to him tonight when freeing herself from his embrace she looked up at him, and for

this one heavenly second felt him all her own. "Percy, you will do nothing rash, nothing foolhardy tonight.

In a moment his face and attitude had changed, the heavy lids drooped over the eyes, the rigidity of the mouth

"Of course he does, m'dear," he said in his usual affected, drawly tones, "of course he does, but that is so

demmed amusing. He does not really know what or how much he knows, or what I know. ... In fact ... er ...

He laughed lightly and carelessly, then deliberately readjusted the set of his lace tie.

"Lately when you brought Deroulede and Juliette Marny to England ... I endured agonies of anxiety ... and ..."

"I know you did, m'dear, and that is where the trouble lies. I know that you are fretting, so I have to be so

demmed quick about the business, so as not to keep you in suspense too long. ... And now I can't take

"I know, I know," he said with a slight frown of selfreproach. "La! but I don't deserve your solicitude.

Heavens know what a brute I was for years, whilst I neglected you, and ignored the noble devotion which I,

She would have said something more, but was interrupted by the entrance of Juliette Marny into the room.

"Some of your guests have arrived, Lady Blakeney," said the young girl, apologising for her seeming

Juliette looked very young and girlish in a simple white gown, without a single jewel on her arms or neck.

"Thanks to your bounty," smiled Juliette, a trifle sadly. "Whilst I dressed tonight, I felt how I should have

"We must hope that you will recover them, dear, some day," said Marguerite vaguely, as she led the young

"Indeed I hope so," sighed Juliette. "When times became so troublous in France after my dear father's death,

his confessor and friend, the Abbe Foucquet, took charge of all my mother's jewels for me. He said they

would be safe with the ornaments of his own little church at Boulogne. He feared no sacrilege, and thought

they would be most effectually hidden there, for no one would dream of looking for the Marny diamonds in

Marguerite said nothing in reply. Whatever her own doubts might be upon such a subject, it could serve no

"Dear Abbe Foucquet," said Juliette after a while, "his is the kind of devotion which I feel sure will never be

found under the new regimes of anarchy and of socalled equality. He would have laid down his life for my

father or for me. And I know that he would never part with the jewels which I entrusted to his care, whilst he

Marguerite would have wished to pursue the subject a little further. It was very pathetic to witness poor

Lady Blakeney knew so much of what was going on in France just now: spoliations, confiscations, official

thefts, open robberies, all in the name of equality, of fraternity and of patriotism. She knew nothing, of

course, of the Abbe Foucquet, but the tender little picture of the devoted old man, painted by Juliette's words,

Instinct and knowledge of the political aspect of France told her that by entrusting valuable family jewels to

the old Abbe, Juliette had most unwittingly placed the man she so much trusted in danger of persecution at

the hands of a government which did not even admit the legality of family possessions. However, there was

neither time nor opportunity now to enlarge upon the subject. Marguerite resolved to recur to it a little later,

when she would be alone with Mlle. de Marny, and above all when she could take counsel with her husband

as to the best means of recovering the young girl's property for her, whilst relieving a devoted old man from

In the meanwhile the two women had reached the first of the long line of state apartments wherein the

brilliant fete was to take place. The staircase and the hall below were already filled with the early arrivals.

Bidding Juliette to remain in the ballroom, Lady Blakeney now took up her stand on the exquisitely decorated

landing, ready to greet her guests. She had a smile and a pleasant word for all, as, in a constant stream, the

elite of London fashionable society began to file past her, exchanging the elaborate greetings which the stilted

The lacqueys in the hall shouted the names of the guests as they passed up the stairs: names celebrated in

politics, in worlds of sport, of science or of art, great historic names, humble, newlymade ones, noble

illustrious titles. The spacious rooms were filling fast. His Royal Highness, so 'twas said, had just stepped out

of his barge. The noise of laughter and chatter was incessant, like unto a crowd of gailyplumaged birds.

Huge bunches of apricotcoloured roses in silver vases made the air heavy with their subtle perfume. Fans

At that moment the lacqueys at the foot of the stairs called out in stentorian tones:

Marguerite's heart gave a slight flutter; she felt a sudden tightening of the throat. She did not see Candeille at

first, only the slight figure of Chauvelin dressed all in black, as usual, with head bent and hands clasped

behind his back; he was slowly mounting the wide staircase, between a double row of brilliantly attired men

and women, who looked with no small measure of curiosity at the exambassador from revolutionary France.

Demoiselle Candeille was leading the way up the stairs. She paused on the landing in order to make before

her hostess a most perfect and most elaborate curtsey. She looked smiling and radiant, beautifully dressed, a

small wreath of wrought gold leaves in her hair, her only jewel an absolutely regal one, a magnificent

It all occurred just before midnight, in one of the smaller rooms, which lead in enfilade from the principal

Dancing had been going on for some time, but the evening was close, and there seemed to be a growing

desire on the part of Lady Blakeney's guests to wander desultorily through the gardens and glasshouses, or sit

There was a rumour that a new and charming French artiste was to sing a few peculiarly ravishing songs,

unheard in England before. Close to the main ballroom was the octagon musicroom which was brilliantly

illuminated, and in which a large number of chairs had been obviously disposed for the comfort of an

audience. Into this room many of the guests had already assembled. It was quite clear that a

chamberconcert select and attractive as were all Lady Blakeney's entertainmentswas in contemplation.

Marguerite herself, released for a moment from her constant duties near her royal guests, had strolled through

the smaller rooms, accompanied by Juliette, in order to search for Mademoiselle Candeille and to suggest the

Desiree Candeille had kept herself very much aloof throughout the evening, only talking to the one or two

gentlemen whom her hostess had presented to her on her arrival, and with M. Chauvelin always in close

Presently, when dancing began, she retired to a small boudoir, and there sat down, demurely waiting, until

When Marguerite and Juliette Marny entered the little room, she rose and came forward a few steps.

"I am ready, Madame," she said pleasantly, "whenever you wish me to begin. I have thought out a short

But before Marguerite had time to utter a reply, she felt her arm nervously clutched by a hot and trembling

The young girl looked pale and very agitated, and her large eyes were fixed in unmistakable wrath upon the

French actress before her. A little startled, not understanding Juliette's attitude, Marguerite tried to reply

"This is Mademoiselle Candeille, Juliette dear," she said, affecting the usual formal introduction, "of the

Varietes Theatre of Paris Mademoiselle Desiree Candeille, who will sing some charming French ditties for

While she spoke she kept a restraining hand on Juliette's quivering arm. Already, with the keen intuition

which had been on the quivive the whole evening, she scented some mystery in this sudden outburst on the

But Juliette did not heed her: she felt surging up in her young, overburdened heart all the wrath and the

contempt of the persecuted, fugitive aristocrat against the triumphant usurper. She had suffered so much from

that particular class of the risen kitchenwench of which the woman before her was so typical and example:

years of sorrow, of poverty were behind her: loss of fortune, of kindred, of friendsshe, even now a pauper,

And all this through no fault of her own: the fault of her class mayhap! but not hers!

She had suffered much, and was still overwrought and nervestrung: for some reason she could not

afterwards have explained, she felt spiteful and uncontrolled, goaded into stupid fury by the look of insolence

Afterwards she would willingly have bitten out her tongue for her vehemence, but for the moment she was

"Mademoiselle Candeille, indeed?" she said in wrathful scorn, "Desiree Candeille, you mean, Lady

Blakeney! my mother's kitchenmaid, flaunting shamelessly my dear mother's jewels which she has stolen

The young girl was trembling from head to foot, tears of anger obscured her eyes; her voice, which

"Juliette! Juliette! I entreat you," admonished Marguerite, "you must control yourself, you must, indeed you

But Candeillewellschooled in the part she had to playhad no intention of quitting the field of battle.

The more wrathful and excited Mademoiselle de Marny became the more insolent and triumphant waxed the

young actress' whole attitude. An ironical smile played round the corners of her mouth, her almondshaped

eyes were halfclosed, regarding through dropping lashed the trembling figure of the young impoverished

aristocrat. Her head was thrown well back, in obvious defiance of the social conventions, which should have

forbidden a fracas in Lady Blakeney's hospitable house, and her fingers provocatively toyed with the

She had no need to repeat the words of a welllearnt part: her own wit, her own emotions and feelings helped

her to act just as her employer would have wished her to do. Her native vulgarity helped her to assume the

very bearing which he would have desired. In fact, at this moment Desiree Candeille had forgotten everything

save the immediate present: a more than contemptuous snub from one of those penniless aristocrats, who had

She had suffered from these snubs before, but had never had the chance of forcing an esclandre, as a result of

her own humiliation. That spirit of hatred for the rich and idle classes, which was so characteristic of

revolutionary France, was alive and hot within her: she had never had an opportunityshe, the humble

fugitive actress from a minor Paris theatre to retort with forcible taunts to the ironical remarks made at and

before her by the various povertystricken but haughty emigres who swarmed in those very same circles of

Now at last, one of this same hated class, provoked beyond selfcontrol, was allowing childish and

Juliette had paused awhile, in order to check the wrathful tears which, much against her will, were choking

"My mother's jewels!" she said in the midst of her tears, "ask her how she came by them. When I was obliged

to leave the home of my fathers, stolen from me by the Revolutionary Government I contrived to retain

my mother's jewels ... you remember, I told you just now. ... The Abbe Foucquetdear old man! Saved them

for me ... that and a little money which I had ... he took charge of them ... he said he would place them in

safety with the ornaments of his church, and now I see them round that woman's neck ... I know that he

All the while that the young girl spoke in a voice halfchoked with sobs, Marguerite tried with all the

physical and mental will at her command to drag her out of the room and thus to put a summary ending to

this unpleasant scene. She ought to have felt angry with Juliette for this childish and senseless outburst, were

it not for the fact that somehow she knew within her innermost heart that all this had been arranged and

preordained: not by Fatenot by a Higher Hand, but by the most skilful intriguer presentday France had

And even now, as she was half succeeding in turning Juliette away from the sight of Candeille, she was not

the least surprised or startled at seeing Chauvelin standing in the very doorway through which she had hoped

to pass. Once glance at his face had made her fears tangible and real: there was a look of satisfaction and

triumph in his pale, narrow eyes, a flash in them of approbation directed at the insolent attitude of the French

actress: he looked like the stagemanager of a play, content with the effect his own wellarranged scenes

What he hoped to gain by thissomewhat vulgarquarrel between the two women, Marguerite of course

could not guess: that something was lurking in his mind, inimical to herself and to her husband, she did not

for a moment doubt, and at this moment she felt that she would have given her very life to induce Candeille

and Juliette to cease this passage of arms, without further provocation on either side.

But though Juliette might have been ready to yield to Lady Blakeney's persuasion, Desiree Candeille, under

Chauvelin's eye, and fired by her own desire to further humiliate this overbearing aristocrat, did not wish the

"Your old calotin was made to part with his booty, m'dear," she said, with a contemptuous shrug of her bare

shoulders. "Paris and France have been starving these many years past: a paternal government seized all it

could with which to reward those that served it well, whilst all that would have been brought bread and meat

Too late now did she realise that she had deliberately stirred up a mud heap and sent noisome insects

"Mademoiselle," said Marguerite authoritatively, "I must ask you to remember that Mlle. de Marny is my

"Aye! I try not to forget it," rejoined Candeille lightly, "but of a truth you must admit, Citizeness, that it

would require the patience of a saint to put up with the insolence of a penniless baggage, who but lately has

There was a moment's silence, whilst Marguerite distinctly heard a short sigh of satisfaction escaping from

the lips of Chauvelin. Then a pleasant laugh broke upon the ears of the four actors who were enacting the

dramatic little scene, and Sir Percy Blakeney, immaculate in his rich white satin coat and filmy lace ruffles,

exquisite in manners and courtesy, entered the little boudoir, and with his long back slightly bent, his arm

outstretched in a graceful and wellstudied curve, he approached Mademoiselle Desiree Candeille.

"May I have the honour," he said with his most elaborate air of courtly deference, "of conducting

In the doorway just behind him stood His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales chatting with apparent

carelessness to Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and Lord Anthony Dewhurst. A curtain beyond the open door was

partially drawn aside, disclosing one or two brilliantly dressed groups, strolling desultorily through the

The four persons assembled in the little boudoir had been so absorbed by their own passionate emotions and

the violence of their quarrel that they had not noticed the approach of Sir Percy Blakeney and of his friends.

Juliette and Marguerite certainly were startled and Candeille was evidently taken unawares. Chauvelin alone

seemed quite indifferent and stood back a little when Sir Percy advanced, in order to allow him to pass.

But Candeille recovered quickly enough from her surprise: without heeding Blakeney's proffered arm, she

"So 'tis I," she said with affected calm, "who am to bear every insult in a house in which I was bidden as a

guest. I am turned out like some intrusive and importunate beggar, and I, the stranger in this land, am

destined to find that amidst all these brilliant English gentlemen there is not one man of honour.

"M. Chauvelin," she added loudly, "our beautiful country has, meseems, deputed you to guard the honour as

well as the worldly goods of your unprotected compatriots. I call upon you, in the name of France, to avenge

She looked round defiantly from one to the other of the several faces which were now turned towards her, but

no one, for the moment, spoke or stirred. Juliette, silent and ashamed, had taken Marguerite's hand in hers,

and was clinging to it as if wishing to draw strength of character and firmness of purpose through the pores of

Sir Percy with backbone still bent in a sweeping curve had not relaxed his attitude of uttermost deference.

The Prince of Wales and his friends were viewing the scene with slightly amused aloofness.

For a momentseconds at mostthere was dead silence in the room, during which time it almost seemed as

"Believe me, Citizeness," he said, addressing Candeille directly and with marked emphasis, "I am entirely at

your command, but am I not helpless, seeing that those who have so grossly insulted you are of your own

Like a great dog after a nap, Sir Percy Blakeney straightened his long back and stretched it out to its full

"La!" he said pleasantly, "my ever engaging friend from Calais. Sir, your servant. Meseems we are ever

destined to discuss amiable matters, in an amiable spirit. ... A glass of punch, Monsieur ... er ... Chauvelin?"

"I must ask you, Sir Percy," rejoined Chauvelin sternly, "to view this matter with becoming seriousness."

"Seriousness is never becoming, sir," said Blakeney, politely smothering a slight yawn, "and it is vastly

"Am I to understand then, Sir Percy," said Chauvelin, "that you are prepared to apologize to Mademoiselle

Sir Percy again tried to smother that tiresome little yawn, which seemed most distressing, when he desired to

be most polite. Then he flicked off a grain of dust from his immaculate lace ruffle and buried his long,

slender hands in the capacious pockets of his white satin breeches; finally he said with the most

"Sir, have you seen the latest fashion in cravats? I would wish to draw your attention to the novel way in

"Sir Percy," retorted Chauvelin firmly, "since you will not offer Mademoiselle Candeille the apology which

she has the right to expect from you, are you prepared that you and I should cross swords like honourable

Blakeney laughed his usual pleasant, somewhat shy laugh, shook his powerful frame and looked from his

altitude of six feet three inches down on the small, sableclad figure of exAmbassador Chauvelin.

"The question is, sir," he said slowly, "should we then be two honourable gentlemen crossing swords?"

Chauvelin, who for one moment had seemed ready to lose his temper, now made a sudden effort to resume a

He did not complete the sentence, but shrugged his shoulders expressive of contempt. The other side of the

curtained doorway a little crowd had gradually assembled, attracted hither by the loud and angry voices

which came from that small boudoir. Host and hostess had been missed from the reception rooms for some

time, His Royal Highness, too, had not been seen for the quarter of an hour: like flies attracted by the light,

one by one, or in small isolated groups, some of Lady Blakeney's quests had found their way to the room

As His Highness was standing in the doorway itself, no one could of course cross the threshold, but everyone

could see into the room, and could take stock of the various actors in the little comedy. They were witnessing

a quarrel between the French envoy and Sir Percy Blakeney wherein the former was evidently in deadly

earnest and the latter merely politely bored. Amused comments flew to and fro: laughter and a babel of

irresponsible chatter made an incessant chirruping accompaniment to the duologue between the two men.

But at this stage, the Prince of Wales, who hitherto had seemingly kept aloof from the quarrel, suddenly

stepped forward and abruptly interposed the weight of his authority and of his social position between the

"Tush, man!" he said impatiently, turning more especially towards Chauvelin, "you talk at random. Sir Percy

Blakeney is an English gentleman, and the laws of this country do not admit of duelling, as you understand it

"Pardon, your Royal Highness," interrupted Sir Percy with irresistible bonhomie, "your Highness does not

understand the situation. My engaging friend here does not propose that I should transgress the laws of this

country, but that I should go over to France with him, and fight him there, where duelling and ... er ... other

"Yes! quite so!" rejoined the Prince, "I understand M. Chauvelin's desire. ... But what about you, Blakeney?"

It would be very difficult indeed to say whyat Blakeney's lightly spoken wordsan immediate silence

should have fallen upon all those present. All the actors in the little drawingroom drama, who had played

their respective parts so unerringly up to now, had paused a while, just as if an invisible curtain had come

down, marking the end of a scene, and the interval during which the players might recover strength and

energy to resume their roles. The Prince of Wales as foremost spectator said nothing for the moment, and

beyond the doorway, the audience there assembled seemed suddenly to be holding its breath, waitingeager,

Only here and there the gentle froufrou of a silk skirt, the rhythmic flutter of a fan, broke those few seconds'

Yet it was all simple enough. A fracas between two ladies, the gentlemen interposing, a few words of angry

expostulation, then the inevitable suggestion of Belgium or of some other country where the childish and

barbarous custom of settling such matters with a couple of swords had not been as yet systematically stamped

The whole scenewith but slight variationshad occurred scores of times in London drawingrooms,

English gentlemen had scores of times crossed the Channel for the purpose of settling similar quarrels in

Why should the present situation appear so abnormal? Sir Percy Blakeneyan accomplished

gentlemanwas past master in the art of fence, and looked more than a match in strength and dexterity for

the meagre, sableclad little opponent who had so summarily challenged him to cross over to France, in order

But somehow everyone had a feeling at this moment that this proposed duel would be unlike any other

combat every fought between two antagonists. Perhaps it was the white, absolutely stony and unexpressive

face of Marguerite which suggested a latent tragedy: perhaps it was the look of unmistakable horror in

Juliette's eyes, or that of triumph in those of Chauvelin, or even that certain something in His Royal Highness'

face, which seemed to imply that the Prince, careless man of the world as he was, would have given much to

Be that as it may, there is no doubt that a certain wave of electrical excitement swept over the little crowd

assembled there, the while the chief actor in the little drama, the inimitable dandy, Sir Percy Blakeney

himself, appeared deeply engrossed in removing a speck of powder from the wide black satin ribbon which

"Gentlemen!" said His Royal Highness suddenly, "we are forgetting the ladies. My lord Hastings," he added,

turning to one of the gentlemen who stood close to him, "I pray you to remedy this unpardonable neglect.

Sir Percy looked up from his absorbing occupation. His eyes met those of his wife; she was like a marble

statue, hardly conscious of what was going on round her. But he, who knew every emotion which swayed that

ardent and passionate nature, guessed that beneath that stony calm there lay a mad, almost unconquerable

impulse: and that was to shout to all these puppets here, the truth, the awful, the unanswerable truth, to tell

them what this challenge really meant; a trap wherein one man consumed with hatred and desire for revenge

Full well did Percy Blakeney guess that for the space of one second his most cherished secret hovered upon

his wife's lips, one turn of the balance of Fate, one breath from the mouth of an unseen sprite, and Marguerite

"Do not allow this monstrous thing to be! The Scarlet Pimpernel, whom you all admire for his bravery, and

love for his daring, stands before you now, face to face with his deadliest enemy, who is here to lure him to

For that momentous second therefore Percy Blakeney held his wife's gaze with the magnetism of his own; all

there was in him of love, of entreaty, of trust, and of command went out to her through that look with which

Then he saw the rigidity of her attitude relax. She closed her eyes in order to shut out the whole world from

her suffering soul. She seemed to be gathering all the mental force of which her brain was capable, for one

great effort of selfcontrol. Then she took Juliette's hand in hers, and turned to go out of the room; the

gentlemen bowed as she swept past them, her rich silken gown making a soft hushshsh as she went. She

nodded to some, curtseyed to the Prince, and had at the last moment the supreme courage and pride to turn

her head once more towards her husband, in order to reassure him finally that his secret was as safe with her

She smiled and passed out of his sight, preceded by Desiree Candeille, who, escorted by one of the

In the little room now there only remained a few men. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had taken the precaution of

Then His Royal Highness turned once more to Monsieur Chauvelin and said with an obvious show of

"Faith, Monsieur! meseems we are all enacting a farce, which can have no final act. I vow that I cannot allow

my friend Blakeney to go over to France at your bidding. Your government now will not allow my father's

subjects to land on your shores without a special passport, and then only for a specific purpose."

"La, your Royal Highness," interposed Sir Percy, "I pray you have no fear for me on that score. My engaging

friend here hasan I mistake not a passport ready for me in the pocket of his sablehued coat, and as we

are hoping effectually to spit one another over there ... gadzooks! but there's the specific purpose. ... Is it not

true, sir," he added, turning once more to Chauvelin, "that in the pocket of that exquisitely cut coat of yours,

you have a passport name in blank perhapswhich you had specially designed for me?"

It was so carelessly, so pleasantly said, that no one save Chauvelin guessed the real import of Sir Percy's

words. Chauvelin, of course, knew their inner meaning: he understood that Blakeney wished to convey to him

the fact that he was well aware that the whole scene tonight had been prearranged, and that it was willingly

and with eyes wide open that he walked into the trap which the revolutionary patriot had so carefully laid for

"The passport will be forthcoming in due course, sir," retorted Chauvelin evasively, "when our seconds have

"Seconds be demmed, sir," rejoined Sir Percy placidly, "you do not propose, I trust, that we travel a whole

"Time, place and conditions must be settled, Sir Percy," replied Chauvelin; "you are too accomplished a

"Nay! neither you nor I, Monsieur ... er ... Chauvelin," quoth Sir Percy blandly, "could, I own, settle such

things with persistent goodhumour; and goodhumour in such cases is the most important of all formalities.

"As for seconds? Perish the thought. One second only, I entreat, and that one a ladythe most adorablethe

most detestable the most true the most fickle amidst all her charming sex. ... Do you agree, sir?"

"Chance, Monsieur, Chance. ... With His Royal Highness' permission let the wilful jade decide."

"Three throws of the dice, Monsieur. ... Time ... Place ... Conditions, you saidthree throws and the winner

Chauvelin hesitated. Sir Percy's bantering mood did not quite fit in with his own elaborate plans, moreover

the exambassador feared a pitfall of some sort, and did not quite like to trust to this arbitration of the dice

He turned, quite involuntarily, in appeal to the Prince of Wales and the other gentlemen present.

But the Englishman of those days was a born gambler. He lived with the dicebox in one pocket and a pack

of cards in the other. The Prince himself was no exception to this rule, and the first gentleman in England was

In the midst of so hostile a crowd, Chauvelin felt it unwise to resist. Moreover, one second's reflection had

already assured him that this throwing of the dice could not seriously interfere with the success of his plans.

If the meeting took place at alland Sir Percy now had gone too far to draw backthen of necessity it

The question of time and conditions of the fight, which at best would be only a farceonly a means to an

Therefore he shrugged his shoulders with wellmarked indifference, and said lightly:

There was a small table in the centre of the room with a settee and two or three chairs arranged close to it.

Around this table now an eager little group had congregated: the Prince of Wales in the forefront, unwilling

to interfere, scarce knowing what madcap plans were floating through Blakeney's adventurous brain, but

excited in spite of himself at this momentous game of hazard the issues of which seemed so nebulous, so

vaguely fraught with dangers. Close to him were Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, Lord Anthony Dewhurst, Lord

Grenville and perhaps a half score gentlemen, young men about town mostly, gay and giddy butterflies of

fashion, who did not even attempt to seek in this strange game of chance any hidden meaning save that it was

And in the centre of the compact group, Sir Percy Blakeney in his gorgeous suit of shimmering white satin,

one knee bent upon a chair, and leaning with easy gracedicebox in handacross the small giltlegged

table; beside him exAmbassador Chauvelin, standing with arms folded behind his back, watching every

movement of his brilliant adversary like some darkplumaged hawk hovering near a bird of paradise.

He took up a dicebox which one of the gentlemen handed to him and the two men threw.

"'Tis mine, Monsieur," said Blakeney carelessly, "mine to name the place where shall occur this historic

encounter, 'twixt the busiest man in France and the most idle fop that e'er disgraced these three kingdoms. ...

"Oh! the exact spot is immaterial, Sir Percy," replied Chauvelin coldly, "the whole of France stands at your

"Aye! I thought as much, but could not be quite sure of such boundless hospitality," retorted Blakeney

"Too far from the coast, sir. I might be seasick crossing over the Channel, and glad to get the business over

as soon as possible. ... No, not Paris, sirrather let us say Boulogne. ... Pretty little place, Boulogne ... do

"Then Boulogne it is .. the ramparts, an you will, on the south side of the town."

A murmur of merriment had accompanied this brief colloquy between the adversaries, and Blakeney's bland

sallies were received with shouts of laughter. Now the dice rattled again and once more the two men threw.

"'Tis yours this time, Monsieur Chauvelin," said Blakeney, after a rapid glance at the dice. "See how evenly

Chance favours us both. Mine, the choice of place ... admirably done you'll confess. ... Now yours the choice

of time. I wait upon your pleasure, sir. ... The southern ramparts at Boulognewhen?"

"The fourth day from this, sir, at the hour when the Cathedral bell chimes the evening Angelus," came

"Nay! but methought that your demmed government had abolished Cathedrals, and bells and chimes. ... The

people of France have now to go to hell their own way ... for the way to heaven has been barred by the

National Convention. ... Is that not so? ... Methought the Angelus was forbidden to be rung."

"Not at Boulogne, I think, Sir Percy," retorted Chauvelin drily, "and I'll pledge you my word that the evening

"I might have asked, why the southern ramparts, Sir Percy; why not the western? I chose the fourth

"Suit me! Why, sir, nothing could suit me better," rejoined Blakeney with his pleasant laugh. "Zounds! but I

call it marvellous ... demmed marvellous ... I wonder now," he added blandly, "what made you think of the

"Ah!" continued Blakeney gaily, "I remember now. ... Faith! to think that I was nigh forgetting that when last

you and I met, sir, you had just taken or were about to take Holy Orders. ... Ah! how well the thought of the

Angelus fits in with your clerical garb. ... I recollect that the latter was mightily becoming to you, sir ..."

"Shall we proceed to settle the conditions of the fight, Sir Percy?" said Chauvelin, interrupting the flow of his

antagonist's gibes, and trying to disguise his irritation beneath a mask of impassive reserve.

"The choice of weapons you mean," here interposed His Royal Highness, "but I thought that swords had

"Quite so, your Highness," assented Blakeney, "but there are various little matters in connection with this

momentous encounter which are of vast importance. ... Am I not right, Monsieur? ... Gentlemen, I appeal to

you. ... Faith! one never knows ... my engaging opponent here might desire that I should fight him in green

"Why not, Monsieur? It would look so well in your buttonhole, against the black of the clerical coat, which I

understand you sometime affect in France ... and when it is withered and quite dead you would find that it

would leave an overpowering odour in your nostrils, far stronger than that of incense."

There was general laughter after this. The hatred which every member of the French revolutionary

governmentincluding, of course, ex Ambassador Chauvelinbore to the national hero was well known.

"The conditions then, Sir Percy," said Chauvelin, without seeming to notice the taunt conveyed in Blakeney's

For the third and last time the two opponents rattled the dicebox and threw. Chauvelin was now absolutely

unmoved. These minor details quite failed to interest him. What mattered the conditions of the fight which

was only intended as a bait with which to lure his enemy in the open? The hour and place were decided on

and Sir Percy would not fail to come. Chauvelin knew enough of his opponent's boldly adventurous spirit not

to feel in the least doubtful on that point. Even now, as he gazed with grudging admiration at the massive,

wellknit figure of his archenemy, noted the thin nervy hands and square jaw, the low, broad forehead and

deepset, halfveiled eyes, he knew that in this matter wherein Percy Blakeney was obviously playing with

his very life, the only emotion that really swayed him at this moment was his passionate love of adventure.

Yes! Sir Percy would be on the southern ramparts of Boulogne one hour after sunset on the day named,

trusting, no doubt, in his usual marvellous goodfortune, his own presence of mind and his great physical and

But even at this moment, Chauvelin had already resolved on one great thing: namely, that on that eventful

day, nothing whatever should be left to Chance; he would meet his cunning enemy not only with cunning, but

also with power, and if the entire force of the republican army then available in the north of France had to be

requisitioned for the purpose, the ramparts of Boulogne would be surrounded and no chance of escape left for

His wave of meditation, however, was here abruptly stemmed by Blakeney's pleasant voice.

"Lud! Monsieur Chauvelin," he said, "I fear me your luck has deserted you. Chance, as you see, has turned to

"Then it is for you, Sir Percy," rejoined the Frenchman, "to name the conditions under which we are to fight."

"Ah! that is so, is it not, Monsieur?" quoth Sir Percy lightly. "By my faith! I'll not plague you with

formalities. ... We'll fight with our coats on if it be cold, in our shirtsleeves if it be sultry. ... I'll not demand

either green socks or scarlet ornaments. I'll even try and be serious for the space of two minutes, sir, and

confine my whole attentionthe product of my infinitesimal brainto thinking out some pleasant detail for

this duel, which might be acceptable to you. Thus, sir, the thought of weapons springs to my mind. ... Swords

you said, I think. Sir! I will e'en restrict my choice of conditions to that of the actual weapons with which we

are to fight. ... Ffoulkes, I pray you," he added, turning to his friend, "the pair of swords which lie across the

"We'll not ask a menial to fetch them, eh, Monsieur?" he continued gaily, as Sir Andrew Ffoulkes at a sign

from him had quickly left the room. "What need to bruit our pleasant quarrel abroad? You will like the

weapons, sir, and you shall have your own choice from the pair. ... You are a fine fencer, I feel sure ... and

you shall decide if a scratch or two or a more serious wound shall be sufficient to avenge Mademoiselle

Whilst he prattled so gaily on, there was dead silence among all those present. The Prince had his shrewd

eyes steadily fixed upon him, obviously wondering what this seemingly irresponsible adventurer held at the

back of his mind. There is no doubt that everyone felt oppressed, and that a strange murmur of anticipatory

excitement went round the little room, when, a few seconds later, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes returned, with two

Blakeney took them from his friend and placed them on the little table in front of exAmbassador Chauvelin.

The spectators strained their necks to look at the two weapons. They were exactly similar one to the other:

both encased in plain black leather sheaths, with steel ferrules polished to shine like silver; the handles too

were of plain steel, with just the grip fashioned in a twisted basket pattern of the same highlytempered

"What think you of these weapons, Monsieur?" asked Blakeney, who was carelessly leaning against the back

Chauvelin took up one of the two swords and slowly drew it from out its scabbard, carefully examining the

"A little oldfashioned in style and make, Sir Percy," he said, closely imitating his opponent's easy

demeanour, "a trifle heavier, perhaps, than we in France have been accustomed to lately, but, nevertheless, a

"Of a truth there's not much the matter with the tempering, Monsieur," quoth Blakeney, "the blades were

"Ah! here I see an inscription," said Chauvelin, holding the sword close to his eyes, the better to see the

"The name of the original owner. I myself bought themwhen I travelled in Italyfrom one of his

"Lorenzo Giovanni Cenci," said Chauvelin, spelling the Italian names quite slowly.

"The greatest blackguard that ever trod this earth. You, no doubt, Monsieur, know his history better than we

do. Rapine, theft, murder, nothing came amiss to Signor Lorenzo ... neither the deadly drug in the cup nor the

He had spoken lightly, carelessly, with that same tone of easy banter which he had not forsaken throughout

the evening, and the same drawly manner which was habitual to him. But at these last words of his,

Chauvelin gave a visible start, and then abruptly replaced the sword which he had been examiningupon

He threw a quick, suspicious glance at Blakeney, who, leaning back against the chair and one knee resting on

the cushioned seat, was idly toying with the other blade, the exact pair to the one which the ex ambassador

"Well, Monsieur," quoth Sir Percy after a slight pause, and meeting with a swift glance of lazy irony his

opponent's fixed gaze. "Are you satisfied with the weapons? Which of the two shall be yours, and which

"Nay, Monsieur," interrupted Blakeney with pleasant bonhomie, "I know what you would say ... of a truth,

there is no choice between this pair of perfect twins: one is as exquisite as the other. ... And yet you must take

one and I the other ... this or that, whichever you prefer. ... You shall take it home with you tonight and

practise thrusting at a haystack or at a bobbin, as you please. .. The sword is yours to command until you have

used it against my unworthy person ... yours until you bring it out four days henceon the southern ramparts

of Boulogne, when the cathedral bells chime the evening Angelus; then you shall cross it against its faithless

twin. ... There, Monsieurthey are of equal length ... of equal strength and temper ... a perfect pair ... Yet I

He took up both the swords in his hands and carefully balancing them by the extreme tip of their steelbound

scabbards, he held them out towards the Frenchman. Chauvelin's eyes were fixed upon him, and he from his

The Terrorist seemed uncertain what to do. Though he was one of those men whom by the force of their

intellect, the strength of their enthusiasm, the power of their cruelty, had built a new anarchical France, had

overturned a throne and murdered a king, yet now, face to face with this affected fop, this lazy and debonnair

adventurer, he hesitatedtrying in vain to read what was going on behind that low, smooth forehead or

He would have given several years of his life at this moment for one short glimpse into the innermost brain

cells of this daring mind, to see the man start, quiver but for the fraction of a second, betray himself by a

tremor of the eyelid. What counterplan was lurking in Percy Blakeney's head, as he offered to his opponent

Did any thought of foul play, of dark and deadly poisonings linger in the fastidious mind of this

Chauvelin tried to chide himself for such fears. It seemed madness even to think of Italian poisons, of the

Cencis or the Borgias in the midst of this brilliantly lighted English drawingroom.

But because he was above all a diplomatist, a fencer with words and with looks, the envoy of France

determined to know, to probe and to read. He forced himself once more to careless laughter and nonchalance

of manner and schooled his lips to smile up with gentle irony at the good humoured face of his archenemy.

"Nay! which do you advise, Sir Percy," replied Chauvelin lightly. "Which of those two blades think you is

But Blakeney neither started nor winced. He broke into a laugh, his own usual pleasant laugh, half shy and

"Zounds! sir, but you are full of surprises. ... Faith! I never would have thought of that. ...Marvellous, I call it

... demmed marvellous. ... What say you, gentlemen? ... Your Royal Highness, what think you? ... Is not my

engaging friend here of a most original turn of mind. ... Will you have this sword or that, Monsieur? ... Nay, I

must insistelse we shall weary our friends if we hesitate too long. ... This one then, sir, since you have

chosen it," he continued, as Chauvelin finally took one of the swords in his hand. "And now for a bowl of

punch. ... Nay, Monsieur, 'twas demmed smart what you said just now ... I must insist on your joining us in a

bowl. ... Such wit as yours, Monsieur, must need whetting at times. ... I pray you repeat that same sally again

It seemed indeed as if the incident were finally closed, the chief actors in the drama having deliberately

The little crowd which had stood in a compact mass round the table, began to break up into sundry small

groups: laughter and desultory talk, checked for a moment by that oppressive sense of unknown danger,

which had weighed on the spirits of those present, once more became general. Blakeney's lightheartedness

had put everyone into good humour; since he evidently did not look upon the challenge as a matter of

serious moment, why then, no one else had any cause for anxiety, and the younger men were right glad to

join in that bowl of punch which their genial host had offered with so merry a grace.

Lacqueys appeared, throwing open the doors. From a distance the sound of dance music once more broke

A few of the men only remained silent, deliberately holding aloof from the renewed mirthfulness. Foremost

amongst these was His Royal Highness, who was looking distinctly troubled, and who had taken Sir Percy by

the arm, and was talking to him with obvious earnestness. Lord Anthony Dewhurst and Lord Hastings were

holding converse in a secluded corner of the room, whilst Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, as being the host's most

intimate friend, felt it incumbent on him to say a few words to exAmbassador Chauvelin.

The latter was desirous of effecting a retreat. Blakeney's invitation to join in the friendly bowl of punch could

not be taken seriously, and the Terrorist wanted to be alone, in order to think out the events of the past hour.

A lacquey waited on him, took the momentous sword from his hand, found his hat and cloak and called his

coach for him: Chauvelin having taken formal leave of his host and acquaintances, quickly worked his way to

He sincerely wished to avoid meeting Lady Blakeney face to face. Not that the slightest twinge of remorse

disturbed his mind, but he feared some impulsive action on her part, which indirectly might interfere with his

future plans. Fortunately no one took much heed of the darklyclad, insignificant little figure that glided so

In the hall he found Demoiselle Candeille waiting for him. She, too, had evidently been desirous of leaving

Blakeney Manor as soon as possible. He saw her to her chaise; then escorted her as far as her lodgings, which

were close by: there were still one or two things which he wished to discuss with her, one or two final

One the whole, he was satisfied with his evening's work: the young actress had well supported him, and had

played her part so far with marvellous sangfroid and skill. Sir Percy, whether willingly or blindly, had

This fact alone disturbed Chauvelin not a little, and as half an hour or so later, having taken final leave of his

ally, he sat alone in the coach, which was conveying him back to town, the sword of Lorenzo Cenci close to

That the adventurous Scarlet Pimpernel should have guessed all along, that sooner or later the French

Revolutionary Government whom he had defrauded of some of its most important victims,would desire

to be even with him, and to bring him to the scaffold, was not to be wondered at. But that he should be so

blind as to imagine that Chauvelin's challenge was anything else but a lure to induce him to go to France,

could not possible be supposed. So bold an adventurer, so keen an intriguer was sure to have scented the trap

immediately, and if he appeared ready to fall into it, it was because there had already sprung up in his

resourceful mind some bold coup or subtle counterplan, with which he hoped to gratify his own passionate

love of sport, whilst once more bringing his enemies to discomfiture and humiliation.

Undoubtedly Sir Percy Blakeney, as an accomplished gentleman of the period, could not very well under the

circumstances which had been so carefully stagemanaged and arranged by Chauvelin, refuse the latter's

challenge to fight him on the other side of the Channel. Any hesitation on the part of the leader of that daring

Scarlet Pimpernel League would have covered him with a faint suspicion of pusillanimity, and a subtle breath

of ridicule, and in a moment the prestige of the unknown and elusive hero would have vanished forever.

But apart from the necessity of the fight, Blakeney seemed to enter into the spirit of the plot directed against

his own life, with such lighthearted merriment, such zest and joy, that Chauvelin could not help but be

convinced that the capture of the Scarlet Pimpernel at Boulogne or elsewhere would not prove quite so easy a

That same night he wrote a long and circumstantial letter to his colleague, Citizen Robespierre, shifting

thereby, as it were, some of the responsibility of coming events from his own shoulders on to the executive of

"I guarantee to you, Citizen Robespierre," he wrote, "and to the members of the Revolutionary Government

who have entrusted me with the delicate mission, that four days from this date at one hour after sunset, the

man who goes by the mysterious name of the Scarlet Pimpernel, will be on the ramparts of Boulogne on the

south side of the town. I have done what has been asked of me. On that day and at that hour, I shall have

brought the enemy of the Revolution, the intriguer against the policy of the republic, within the power of the

government which he has flouted and outraged. Now look to it, citizens all, that the fruits of my diplomacy

and of my skill be not lost to France again. The man will be there at my bidding, 'tis for you to see that he

This letter he sent by special courier which the National Convention had placed at his disposal in case of

emergency. Having sealed it and entrusted it to the man, Chauvelin felt at peace with the world and with

himself. Although he was not so sure of success as he would have wished, he yet could not see _how_ failure

could possibly come about: and the only regret which he felt tonight, when he finally in the early dawn

sought a few hours' troubled rest, was that that momentous fourth day was still so very far distant.

In the meanwhile silence had fallen over the beautiful old manorial house. One by one the guests had

departed, leaving that peaceful sense of complete calm and isolation which follows the noisy chatter of any

The evening had been universally acknowledged to have been brilliantly successful. True, the much talked of

French artiste had not sung the promised ditties, but in the midst of the whirl and excitement of dances, of the

inspiring tunes of the string band, the elaborate supper and recherche wines, no one had paid much heed to

And everyone had agreed that never had Lady Blakeney looked more radiantly beautiful than on this night.

She seemed absolutely indefatigable; a perfect hostess, full of charming little attentions towards every one,

although more than ordinarily absorbed by her duties towards her many royal guests.

The dramatic incidents which had taken place in the small boudoir had not been much bruited abroad. It was

always considered bad form in those courtly days to discuss men's quarrels before ladies, and in this instance,

those who were present when it all occurred instinctively felt that their discretion would be appreciated in

Thus the brilliant evening was brought to a happy conclusion without a single cloud to mar the enjoyment of

the guests. Marguerite performed a veritable miracle of fortitude, forcing her very smiles to seem natural and

gay, chatting pleasantly, even wittily, upon every known fashionable topic of the day, laughing merrily the

Now, when everybody had gone, when the last of her guests had bobbed before her the prescribed curtsey, to

which she had invariably responded with the same air of easy selfpossession, now at last she felt free to give

rein to her thoughts, to indulge in the luxury of looking her own anxiety straight in the face and to let the

Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had been the last to leave and Percy had strolled out with him as far as the garden gate,

for Lady Ffoulkes had left in her chaise some time ago, and Sir Andrew meant to walk to his home, not many

In spite of herself Marguerite felt her heartstrings tighten as she thought of this young couple so lately

wedded. People smiled a little when Sir Andrew Ffoulkes' name was mentioned, some called him effeminate,

other uxorious, his fond attachment for his pretty little wife was thought to pass the bounds of decorum.

There was no doubt that since his marriage the young man had greatly changed. His love of sport and

adventure seemed to have died out completely, yielding evidently to the great, more overpowering love, that

Suzanne was nervous for her husband's safety. She had sufficient influence over him to keep him at home,

when other members of the brave little League of The Scarlet Pimpernel followed their leader with mad zest,

Marguerite too at first had smiled in kindly derision when Suzanne Ffoulkes, her large eyes filled with tears,

had used her wiles to keep Sir Andrew tied to her own dainty apronstrings. But somehow, lately, with that

gentle contempt which she felt for the weaker man, there had mingled a halfacknowledged sense of envy.

Percy loved her truly and with a depth of passion proportionate to his own curious dual personality: it were

sacrilege, almost, to doubt the intensity of his love. But nevertheless she had at all times a feeling as if he

were holding himself and his emotions in check, as if his love, as if she, Marguerite, his wife, were but

secondary matters in his life; as if her anxieties, her sorrow when he left her, her fears for his safety were but

small episodes in the great book of life which he had planned out and conceived for himself.

Then she would hate herself for such thoughts: they seemed like doubts of him. Did any man ever love a

woman, she asked herself, as Percy loved her? He was difficult to understand, and perhaps oh! that was an

awful "perhaps"perhaps there lurked somewhere in his mind a slight mistrust of her. She had betrayed him

And tonight after her guests had gone she threw open the great windows that gave on the beautiful terrace,

with its marble steps leading down to the cool river beyond. Everything now seemed so peaceful and still; the

scent of the heliotrope made the midnight air swoon with its intoxicating fragrance: the rhythmic murmur of

the waters came gently echoing from below, and from far away there came the melancholy cry of a

That cry made Marguerite shudder: her thoughts flew back to the episodes of this night and to Chauvelin, the

dark bird of prey with his mysterious deathdealing plans, his subtle intrigues which all tended towards the

Oh! how she hated these wild adventures which took Percy away from her side. Is not a woman who

lovesbe it husband or child the most truly selfish, the most cruelly callous creature in the world, there,

where the safety and the wellbeing of the loved one is in direct conflict with the safety and wellbeing of

She would right gladly have closed her eyes to every horror perpetrated in France, she would not have known

what went on in Paris, she wanted her husband! And yet month after month, with but short intervals, she saw

him risk that precious life of his, which was the very essence of her own soul, for others! for others! always

And she! she! Marguerite, his wife, was powerless to hold him back! powerless to keep him beside her, when

that mad fit of passion seized him to go on one of those wild quests, wherefrom she always feared he could

not return alive: and this, although she might use every noble artifice, every tender wile of which a loving and

At times like those her own proud heart was filled with hatred and with envy towards everything that took

him away from her: and tonight all these passionate feelings which she felt were quite unworthy of her and

of him seemed to surge within her soul more tumultuously than ever. She was longing to throw herself in his

arms, to pour out into his loving ear all that she suffered, in fear and anxiety, and to make one more appeal to

his tenderness and to that passion which had so often made him forget the world at her feet.

And so instinctively she walked along the terrace towards that more secluded part of the garden just above

the river bank, where she had so oft wandered hand in hand with him, in the honeymoon of their love. There

great clumps of oldfashioned cabbage roses grew in untidy splendour, and belated lilies sent intoxicating

odours into the air, whilst the heavy masses of Egyptian and Michaelmas daisies looked like ghostly

She thought Percy must soon be coming this way. Though it was so late, she knew that he would not go to

bed. After the events of the night, his ruling passion, strong in death, would be holding him in its thrall.

She too felt wide awake and unconscious of fatigue; when she reached the secluded path beside the river, she

Presently it seemed to her that above the gentle clapper of the waters she could hear a rustle and the

scrunching of the fine gravel under carefully measured footsteps. She waited a while. The footsteps seemed

to draw nearer, and soon, although the starlit night was very dark, she perceived a cloaked and hooded figure

"Demoiselle Candeille!" ejaculated Marguerite, wholly taken by surprise. "What are you doing here? alone?

"Shshsh ..." whispered Candeille eagerly, as she approached quite close to Marguerite and drew her hood

still lower over her eyes. "I am all alone ... I wanted to see someoneyou if possible, Lady Blakeney ... for I

"I pray you do not misunderstand me ..." pleaded Candeille eagerly. "I know my presence in your house ...

the quarrel which I provoked must have filled your heart with hatred and suspicion towards me ... but oh!

how can I persuade you? ... I acted unwillingly ... will you not believe me? ... I was that man's tool ... and ...

Oh God!" she added with sudden, wild vehemence, "if only you could know what tyranny that accursed

government of France exercises over poor helpless women or men who happen to have fallen within reach of

Her voice broke down in a sob. Marguerite hardly knew what to say or think. She had always mistrusted this

woman with her theatrical ways and stagy airs, from the very first moment she saw her in the tent on the

green: and she did not wish to run counter against her instinct, in anything pertaining to the present crisis.

And yet in spite of her mistrust the actress' vehement words found an echo in the depths of her own heart.

How well she knew that tyranny of which Candeille spoke with such bitterness! Had she not suffered from it,

endured terrible sorrow and humiliation, when under the ban of that same appalling tyranny she had betrayed

Therefore when Candeille paused after those last excited words, she said with more gentleness than she had

"But you have not yet told me why you came back here tonight? If Citizen Chauvelin was your taskmaster,

"Or are too proud to take one. ... Do you know, Lady Blakeney, that Citizen Chauvelin has a personal hatred

"How do you know that?" asked Marguerite, with her suspicions once more on the quivive. She could not

understand Candeille's attitude. This midnight visit, the vehemence of her language, the strange mixture of

knowledge and ignorance which she displayed. What did this woman know of Chauvelin's secret plans? Was

she his open ally, or his helpless tool? And was she even now playing a part taught her or commanded her by

Candeille, however, seemed quite unaware of the spirit of antagonism and mistrust which Marguerite took

but little pains now to disguise. She clasped her hands together, and her voice shook with the earnestness of

"Oh!" she said eagerly, "have I not seen that look of hatred in Chauvelin's cruel eyes? ... He hates your

husband, I tell you. ... Why I know not ... but he hates him .. and means that great harm shall come to Sir

Percy through this absurd duel. ... Oh! Lady Blakeney, do not let him go ... I entreat you, do not let him go!"

But Marguerite proudly drew back a step or two, away from the reach of those hands, stretched out towards

"You are overwrought, Mademoiselle," she said coldly. "Believe me, I have no need either of your entreaties

or of your warning. ... I should like you to think that I have no wish to be ungrateful ... that I appreciate any

kind thought you may have harboured for me in your mind. ... But beyond that ... please forgive me if I say it

somewhat crudelyI do not feel that the matter concerns you in the least. ... The hour is late," she added

more gently, as if desiring to attenuate the harshness of her last words. "Shall I send my maid to escort you

"Nay!" retorted the other in tones of quiet sadness, "there is no need of discretion ... I am not ashamed of my

visit to you tonight. ... You are very proud, and for your sake I will pray to God that sorrow and humiliation

may not come to you, as I feared. ... We are never likely to meet again, Lady Blakeney ... you will not wish it,

and I shall have passed out of your life as swiftly as I had entered into it. ... But there was another thought

lurking in my mind when I came tonight. ... In case Sir Percy goes to France ... the duel is to take place in or

"That 'tis no concern of mine ... I know ... I own that. ... But, you see when I came back here tonight in the

silence and the darknessI had not guessed that you would be so proud ... I thought that I, a woman, would

know how to touch your womanly heart. ... I was clumsy, I suppose. ... I made so sure that you would wish to

go with your husband, in case ... in case he insisted on running his head into the noose, which I feel sure

Chauvelin has prepared for him. ... I myself start for France shortly. Citizen Chauvelin has provided me with

the necessary passport for myself and my maid, who was to have accompanied me. ... Then, just now, when I

was all alone ... and thought over all the mischief which that fiend had forced me to do for him, it seemed to

She broke off abruptly, and tried to read the other woman's face in the gloom. But Marguerite, who was taller

than the Frenchwoman, was standing, very stiff and erect, giving the young actress neither discouragement

nor confidence. She did not interrupt Candeille's long and voluble explanation: vaguely she wondered what it

was all about, and even now when the Frenchwoman paused, Marguerite said nothing, but watched her

quietly as she took a folded paper from the capacious pocked of her cloak and then held it out with a look of

"My maid need not come with me," said Desiree Candeille humbly. "I would far rather travel alone ... this is

her passport and ... Oh! you need not take it out of my hand," she added in tones of bitter selfdeprecation, as

Marguerite made no sign of taking the paper from her. "See! I will leave it here among the roses! ... You

mistrust me now ... it is only natural ... presently, perhaps, calmer reflection will come ... you will see that my

She stooped and placed the folded paper in the midst of a great clump of centifolium roses, and then without

another word she turned and went her way. For a few moments, whilst Marguerite still stood there, puzzled

and vaguely moved, she could hear the gentle froufrou of the other woman's skirts against the soft sand of

Then all was still again. The gentle midnight breeze caressed the tops of the ancient oaks and elms behind

her, drawing murmurs from their dying leaves like unto the whisperings of ghosts.

Marguerite shuddered with a slight sense of cold. Before her, amongst the dark clump of leaves and the roses,

invisible in the gloom, there fluttered with a curious, melancholy flapping, the folded paper placed there by

Candeille. She watched it for awhile, as, disturbed by the wind, it seemed ready to take its flight towards the

river. Anon it fell to the ground, and Marguerite with sudden overpowering impulse, stooped and picked it

up. Then clutching it nervously in her hand, she walked rapidly back towards the house.

As she neared the terrace, she became conscious of several forms moving about at the foot of the steps, some

few feet below where she was standing. Soon she saw the glimmer of lanthorns, heard whispering voices, and

Anon a figure, laden with cloaks and sundry packages, passed down the steps close beside her. Even in the

darkness Marguerite recognized Benyon, her husband's confidential valet. Without a moment's hesitation, she

flew among the terrace towards the wing of the house occupied by Sir Percy. She had not gone far before she

discerned his tall figure walking leisurely along the path which here skirted part of the house.

He had on his large caped coat, which was thrown open in front, displaying a grey travelling suit of fine

cloth; his hands were as usual buried in the pockets of his breeches, and on his head he wore the folding

Before she had time to think, or to realize that he was going, before she could utter one single word, she was

in his arms, clinging to him with passionate intensity, trying in the gloom to catch every expression of his

She had felt his strong arms closing round her, his lips seeking hers, her eyes, her hair, her clinging hands,

"If you really loved me, Percy," she murmured, "you would not go, you would not go ..."

He would not trust himself to speak; it wellnigh seemed as if his sinews cracked with the violent effort at

selfcontrol. Oh! how she loved him, when she felt in him the passionate lover, the wild, untamed creature

that he was at heart, on whom the frigid courtliness of manner sat but as a thin veneer. This was his own real

personality, and there was little now of the elegant and accomplished gentleman of fashion, schooled to hold

every emotion in check, to hide every thought, every desire save that for amusement or for display.

Shefeeling her power and his weakness nowgave herself wholly to his embrace, not grudging one

"You cannot go ... you cannot ... why should you go? ... It is madness to leave me ... I cannot let you go ..."

Her arms clung tenderly round him, her voice was warm and faintly shaken with suppressed tears, and as he

wildly murmured: "Don't! for pity's sake!" she almost felt that her love would be triumphant.

"For pity's sake, I'll go on pleading, Percy!" she whispered. "Oh! my love, my dear! do not leave me! ... we

have scarce had time to savour our happiness .. we have such arrears of joy to make up. ... Do not go, Percy ...

there's so much I want to say to you. ... Nay! you shall not! you shall not!" she added with sudden

vehemence. "Look me straight in the eyes, my dear, and tell me if you can leave now?"

He did not reply, but, almost roughly, he placed his hand over her tear dimmed eyes, which were turned up

to his, in an agony of tender appeal. Thus he blindfolded her with that wild caress. She should not seeno,

not even she!that for the space of a few seconds stern manhood was wellnigh vanquished by the magic of

All that was most human in him, all that was weak in this strong and untamed nature, cried aloud for peace

and luxury and idleness: for long summer afternoons spent in lazy content, for the companionship of horses

and dogs and of flowers, with no thought or cares save those for the next evening's gavotte, no graver

And during these few seconds, whilst his hand lay across her eyes, the lazy, idle fop of fashionable London

was fighting a handtohand fight with the bold leader of a band of adventurers: and his own passionate love

for his wife ranged itself with fervent intensity on the side of his weaker self. Forgotten were the horrors of

the guillotine, the calls of the innocent, the appeal of the helpless; forgotten the daring adventures, the

excitements, the hair'sbreadth escapes; for those few seconds, heavenly in themselves, he only remembered

She would have pleaded again, for she felt that she was winning in this fight: her instinctthat unerring

instinct of the woman who loves and feels herself belovedtold her that for the space of an infinitesimal

fraction of time, his iron will was inclined to bend; but he checked her pleading with a kiss.

Like a gigantic wave carried inwards by the tide, his turbulent emotion seemed suddenly to shatter itself

against a rock of selfcontrol. Was it a call from the boatmen below? a distant scrunching of feet upon the

gravel?who knows, perhaps only a sigh in the midnight air, a ghostly summons from the land of dreams

Even as Marguerite was still clinging to him, with the ardent fervour of her own passion, she felt the rigid

tension of his arms relax, the power of his embrace weaken, the wild lovelight become dim in his eyes.

He kissed her fondly, tenderly, and with infinite gentleness smoothed away the little damp curls from her

brow. There was a wistfulness now in his caress, and in his kiss there was the finality of a long farewell.

These were the first coherent words he had spoken since first she had met him here in this lonely part of the

garden, and his voice was perfectly steady, conventional and cold. An icy pang shot through Marguerite's

"You are not going, Percy!" she murmured, and her own voice now sounded hollow and forced. "Oh! if you

Nay! in this at least there was no dream! no coldness in his voice when he repeated those words with such a

sigh of tenderness, such a world of longing, that the bitterness of her great pain vanished, giving place to

tears. He took her hand in his. The passion was momentarily conquered, forced within his innermost soul, by

his own alter ego, that second personality in him, the coldblooded and coollycalculating adventurer who

juggled with his life and tossed it recklessly upon the sea of chance 'twixt a doggerel and a smile. But the

tender love lingered on, fighting the enemy a while longer, the wistful desire was there for her kiss, the tired

He took her hand in his, and bent his lips to it, and with the warmth of his kiss upon it, she felt a moisture like

"Why? Why?" she repeated obstinately. "Am I nothing then? Is my life of no account? My sorrows? My

fears? My misery? Oh!" she added with vehement bitterness, "why should it always be others? What are

others to you and to me, Percy? ... Are we not happy here? ... Have you not fulfilled to its uttermost that

selfimposed duty to people who can be nothing to us? ... Is not your life ten thousand times more precious to

Even through the darkness, and because his face was so close to hers, she could see a quaint little smile

"Nay, m'dear," he said gently, "'tis not ten thousand lives that call to me today ... only one at best. ... Don't

you hate to think of that poor little old cure sitting in the midst of his ruined pride and hopes: the jewels so

confidently entrusted to his care, stolen from him, he waiting, perhaps, in his little presbytery for the day

when those brutes will march him to prison and to death. ... Nay! I think a little sea voyage and English

country air would suit the Abbe Foucquet, m'dear, and I only mean to ask him to cross the Channel with me!

"Oh! I know! I know!" he rejoined with that short deprecatory sigh of his, which seemed always to close any

discussion between them on that point, "you are thinking of that absurd duel ..." He laughed lightly, good

"La, m'dear!" he said gaily, "will you not reflect a moment? Could I refuse the challenge before His Royal

Highness and the ladies? I couldn't. ... Faith! that was it. ... Just a case of couldn't. ... Fate did it all ... the

quarrel ... my interference ... the challenge. ... HE had planned it all of course. ... Let us own that he is a brave

man, seeing that he and I are not even yet, for that beating he gave me on the Calais cliffs."

"Yes! he has planned it all," she retorted vehemently. "The quarrel to night, your journey to France, your

meeting with him face to face at a given hour and place where he can most readily, most easily close the

This time he broke into a laugh. A good, hearty laugh, full of the joy of living, of the madness and

intoxication of a bold adventure, a laugh that had not one particle of anxiety or of tremor in it.

"Nay! m'dear!" he said, "but your ladyship is astonishing. ... Close a deathtrap upon your humble servant? ...

Nay! the governing citizens of France will have to be very active and mighty wideawake ere they succeed in

stealing a march on me. ... Zounds! but we'll give them an exciting chase this time. ... Nay! little woman, do

not fear!" he said with sudden infinite gentleness, "those demmed murderers have not got me yet."

Oh! how often she had fought with him thus: with him, the adventurer, the part of his dual nature that was her

bitter enemy, and which took him, the lover, away from her side. She knew so well the finality of it all, the

amazing hold which that unconquerable desire for these mad adventures had upon him. Impulsive, ardent as

she was, Marguerite felt in her very soul an overwhelming fury against herself for her own weakness, her

own powerlessness in the face of that which forever threatened to ruin her life and her happiness.

Yes! and his also! for he loved her! he loved her! he loved her! the thought went on hammering in her mind,

for she knew of its great truth! He loved her and went away! And she, poor, puny weakling, was unable to

hold him back; the tendrils which fastened his soul to hers were not so tenacious as those which made him

cling to suffering humanity, over there in France, where men and women were in fear of death and torture,

and looked upon the elusive and mysterious Scarlet Pimpernel as a heavenborn hero sent to save them from

their doom. To them at these times his very heartstrings seemed to turn with unconquerable force, and when,

with all the ardour of her own passion, she tried to play upon the cords of his love for her, he could not

And yet through it all she knew that this love of humanity, this mad desire to serve and to help, in no way

detracted from his love for her. Nay, it intensified it, made it purer and better, adding to the joy of perfect

But now at last she felt weary of the fight: her heart was aching, bruised and sore. An infinite fatigue seemed

to weigh like lead upon her very soul. This seemed so different to any other parting, that had perforce been

during the past year. The presence of Chauvelin in her house, the obvious planning of this departure for

France, had filled her with a foreboding, nay, almost a certitude of a gigantic and deadly cataclysm.

Her senses began to reel; she seemed not to see anything very distinctly: even the loved form took on a

strange and ghostlike shape. He now looked preternaturally tall, and there was a mist between her and him.

She thought that he spoke to her again, but she was not quite sure, for his voice sounded like some weird and

mysterious echo. A bosquet of climbing heliotrope close by threw a fragrance into the evening air, which

She closed her eyes, for she felt as if she must die, if she held them open any longer; and as she closed them it

He felt her graceful figure swaying in his arms like a tall and slender lily bending to the wind. He saw that

she was but halfconscious, and thanked heaven for this kindly solace to his heartbreaking farewell.

There was a sloping, mossy bank close by, there where the marble terrace yielded to the encroaching

shrubbery: a tangle of pale pink monthly roses made a bower overhead. She was just sufficiently conscious to

enable him to lead her to this soft green couch. There he laid her amongst the roses, kissed the dear, tired

In a moment she was on her feet, all her fatigue gone, her numbness of soul and body vanished as in a flash.

She was fully conscious now! conscious that he had gone! that according to every probability under heaven

and every machination concocted in hell, he would never return from France alive, and that she had failed to

hear the last words which he spoke to her, had failed to glean his last look or to savour his final kiss.

Though the night was starlit and balmy it was singularly dark, and vainly did Marguerite strain her eyes to

catch sight of that boat which was bearing him away so swiftly now: she strained her ears, vaguely hoping to

catch one last, lingering echo of his voice. But all was silence, save that monotonous clapper, which seemed

She could hear the oars distinctly: there were six or eight, she thought: certainly no fewer. Eight oarsmen

probably, which meant the larger boat, and undoubtedly the longer journey ... not to London only with a view

to posting to Dover, but to Tilbury Fort, where the "Day Dream" would be in readiness to start with a

Thought was returning to her, slowly and coherently: the pain of the last farewell was still there, bruising her

very senses with its dull and heavy weight, but it had become numb and dead, leaving her, herself, her heart

and soul, stunned and apathetic, whilst her brain was gradually resuming its activity.

And the more she thought it over, the more certain she grew that her husband was going as far as Tilbury by

river and would embark on the "Day Dream" there. Of course he would go to Boulogne at once. The duel was

to take place there, Candeille had told her that ... adding that she thought she, Marguerite, would wish to go

Heavens above! was not that the only real, tangible thought in that whirling chaos which was raging in her

To go with him! Surely there must be some means of reaching him yet! Fate, Nature, God Himself would

never permit so monstrous a thing as this: that she should be parted from her husband, now when his life was

not only in danger, but forfeited already ... lost ... a precious thing all but gone from this world.

Percy was going to Boulogne ... she must go too. By posting at once to Dover, she could get the tidal boat on

the morrow and reach the French coast quite as soon as the "Day Dream." Once at Boulogne, she would have

no difficulty in finding her husband, of that she felt sure. She would have but to dog Chauvelin's footsteps,

find out something of his plans, of the orders he gave to troops or to spies,oh! she would find him! of that

How well she remembered her journey to Calais just a year ago, in company with Sir Andrew Ffoulkes!

Chance had favoured her then, had enabled her to be of service to her husband if only by distracting

Chauvelin's attention for awhile to herself. Heaven knows! she had but little hope of being of use to him now:

an aching sense was in her that fate had at last been too strong! that the daring adventurer had staked once too

In the bosom of her dress she felt the sharp edge of the paper left for her by Desiree Candeille among the

roses in the park. She had picked it up almost mechanically then, and tucked it away, hardly heeding what she

was doing. Whatever the motive of the French actress had been in placing the passport at her disposal,

Marguerite blessed her in her heart for it. To the woman she had mistrusted, she would owe the last supreme

Her resolution never once wavered. Percy would not take her with him: that was understandable. She could

neither expect it nor think it. But she, on the other hand, could not stay in England, at Blakeney Manor, whilst

any day, any hour, the deathtrap set by Chauvelin for the Scarlet Pimpernel might be closing upon the man

whom she worshipped. She would go mad if she stayed. As there could be no chance of escape for Percy

now, as he had agreed to meet his deadly enemy face to face at a given place, and a given hour, she could not

be a hindrance to him: and she knew enough subterfuge, enough machinations and disguises by now, to

escape Chauvelin's observation, unless ... unless Percy wanted her, and then she would be there.

No! she could not be a hindrance. She had a passport in her pocket, everything en regle, nobody could harm

her, and she could come and go as she pleased. There were plenty of swift horses in the stables, plenty of

devoted servants to do her bidding quickly and discreetly: moreover, at moments like these, conventionalities

and the possible conjectures and surmises of others became of infinitesimally small importance. The

household of Blakeney Manor were accustomed to the master's sudden journeys and absences of several

days, presumably on some shooting or other sporting expeditions, with no one in attendance on him, save

Benyon, his favourite valet. These passed without any comments now! Bah! let everyone marvel for once at

her ladyship's sudden desire to go to Dover, and let it all be a nine days' wonder; she certainly did not care.

Skirting the house, she reached the stables beyond. One or two men were astir. To these she gave the

necessary orders for her coach and four, then she found her way back to the house.

Walking along the corridor, she went past the room occupied by Juliette de Marny. For a moment she

Juliette was not yet in bed, for she went to the door herself and opened it. Obviously she had been quite

unable to rest, her hair was falling loosely over her shoulders, and there was a look of grave anxiety on her

"Juliette," said Marguerite in a hurried whisper, the moment she had closed the door behind her and she and

the young girl were alone, "I am going to France to be near my husband. He has gone to meet that fiend in a

duel which is nothing but a trap, set to capture him, and lead him to his death. I want you to be of help to me,

"I would give my life for you, Lady Blakeney." said Juliette simply, "is it not HIS since he save it?"

"It is only a little presence of mind, a little coolness and patience, which I will ask of you, dear," said

Marguerite. "You of course know who your rescuer was, therefore you will understand my fears. Until

tonight, I had vague doubts as to how much Chauvelin really knew, but now these doubts have naturally

vanished. He and the French Revolutionary Government know that the Scarlet Pimpernel and Percy Blakeney

are one and the same. The whole scene tonight was prearranged: you and I and all the spectators, and that

woman Candeillewe were all puppets piping to that devil's tune. The duel, too, was prearranged! ... that

woman wearing your mother's jewels! ... Had you not provoked her, a quarrel between her and me, or one of

my guests would have been forced somehow ... I wanted to tell you this, lest you should fret, and think that

you were in any way responsible for what has happened. ... You were not. ... He had arranged it all. ... You

were only the tool ... just as I was. ... You must understand and believe that. ... Percy would hate to think that

you felt yourself to blame ... you are not that, in any way. ... The challenge was bound to come. ... Chauvelin

had arranged that it should come, and if you had failed him as a tool, he soon would have found another! Do

"I believe that you are an angel of goodness, Lady Blakeney," replied Juliette, struggling with her tears, "and

"But," insisted Marguerite firmly, as the young girl took her cold hand in her own, and gently fondling it,

covered it with grateful kisses, "but if ... if anything happens ... anon ... you will believe firmly that you were

in no way responsible? ... that you were innocent .. and merely a blind tool? ..."

"And now for my request," rejoined Lady Blakeney in a more quiet, more matteroffact tone of voice. "You

must represent me, here, when I am gone: explain as casually and as naturally as you can, that I have gone to

join my husband on his yacht for a few days. Lucie, my maid, is devoted and a tower of secrecy; she will

stand between you and the rest of the household, in concocting some plausible story. To every friend who

calls, to anyone of our world whom you may meet, you must tell the same tale, and if you note an air of

incredulity in anyone, if you hear whispers of there being some mystery, well! let the world wag its busy

tongueI care less than naught: it will soon tire of me and my doings, and having torn my reputation to

shreds will quickly leave me in peace. But to Sir Andrew Ffoulkes," she added earnestly, "tell the whole truth

"I will do all you ask, Lady Blakeney, and am proud to think that I shall be serving you, even in so humble

She bent down to the young girl and kissed her tenderly on the forehead, then she glided out of the room as

rapidly as she had come. Juliette, of course, did not try to detain her, or to force her help of companionship on

Marguerite quickly reached her room. Her maid Lucie was already waiting for her. Devoted and silent as she

was, one glance at her mistress' face told her that troublegrave and imminent had reached Blakeney

Marguerite, whilst Lucie undressed her, took up the passport and carefully perused the personal description of

one, Celine Dumont, maid to Citizeness Desiree Candeille, which was given therein: tall, blue eyes, light

hair, age about twentyfive. It all might have been vaguely meant for her. She had a dark cloth gown, and

long black cloak with hood to come well over the head. These she now donned, with some thick shoes, and a

darkcoloured handkerchief tied over her head under the hood, so as to hide the golden glory of her hair.

She was quite calm and in no haste. She made Lucie pack a small hand valise with some necessaries for the

journey, and provided herself plentifully with moneyFrench and English noteswhich she tucked well

Then she bade her maid, who was struggling with her tears, a kindly farewell, and quickly went down to her

During the journey Marguerite had not much leisure to think. The discomforts and petty miseries incidental

on cheap travelling had the very welcome effect of making her forget, for the time being, the soul rendering

For, of necessity, she had to travel at the cheap rate, among the crowd of poorer passengers who were herded

aft the packet boat, leaning up against one another, sitting on bundles and packages of all kinds; that part of

the deck, reeking with the smell of tar and seawater, damp, squally and stuffy, was an abomination of

hideous discomfort to the dainty, fastidious lady of fashion, yet she almost welcomed the intolerable

propinquity, the cold douches of salt water, which every now and then wetted her through and through, for it

was the consequent sense of physical wretchedness that helped her to forget the intolerable anguish of her

And among these poorer travellers she felt secure from observation. No one took much notice of her. She

looked just like one of the herd, and in the huddledup little figure, in the dark bedraggled clothes, no one

Drawing her hood well over her head, she sat in a secluded corner of the deck, upon the little black valise

which contained the few belongings she had brought with her. Her cloak and dress, now mudstained and

dank with splashings of saltwater, attracted no one's attention. There was a keen northeasterly breeze, cold

and penetrating, but favourable to a rapid crossing. Marguerite, who had gone through several hours of weary

travelling by coach, before she had embarked at Dover in the late afternoon, was unspeakably tired. She had

watched the golden sunset out at sea until her eyes were burning with pain, and as the dazzling crimson and

orange and purple gave place to the soft grey tones of evening, she descried the round cupola of the church of

After that her mind became a blank. A sort of torpor fell over her sense: she was wakeful and yet halfasleep,

unconscious of everything around her, seeing nothing but the distant massive towers of old Boulogne

churches gradually detaching themselves one by one from out the fast gathering gloom.

The town seemed like a dream city, a creation of some morbid imagination, presented to her mind's eye as the

When the boat finally scraped her sides along the rough wooden jetty, Marguerite felt as if she were forcibly

awakened. She was numb and stiff and thought she must have fallen asleep during the last half hour of the

journey. Everything round her was dark. The sky was overcast, and the night seemed unusually sombre.

Figures were moving all around her, there was noise and confusion of voices, and a general pushing and

shouting which seemed strangely weird in this gloom. Here among the poorer passengers, there had not been

thought any necessity for a light, one solitary lantern fixed to a mast only enhanced the intense blackness of

everything around. Now and then a face would come within range of this meagre streak of yellow light,

looking strangely distorted, with great, elongated shadows across the brow and chin, a grotesque, ghostly

apparition which quickly vanished again, scurrying off like some frightened gnome, giving place other forms,

Marguerite watched them all half stupidly and motionlessly for awhile. She did not quite know what she

ought to do, and did not like to ask any questions: she was dazed and the darkness blinded her. Then

gradually things began to detach themselves more clearly. On looking straight before her, she began to

discern the landing place, the little wooden bridge across which the passengers walked one by one from the

boat unto the jetty. The firstclass passengers were evidently all alighting now: the crowd of which

Marguerite formed a unit, had been pushed back in a more compact herd, out of the way for the moment, so

Beyond the landing stage a little booth had been erected, a kind of tent, open in front and lighted up within by

a couple of lanthorns. Under this tent there was a table, behind which sat a man dressed in some sort of

All the passengers from the boat had apparently to file past this tent. Marguerite could see them now quite

distinctly, the profiles of the various faces, as they paused for a moment in front of the table, being brilliantly

illuminated by one of the lanterns. Two sentinels wearing the uniform of the National Guard stood each side

of the table. The passengers one by one took out their passport as they went by, handed it to the man in the

official dress, who examined it carefully, very lengthily, then signed it and returned the paper to its owner:

but at times, he appeared doubtful, folded the passport and put it down in front of him: the passenger would

protest; Marguerite could not hear what was said, but she could see that some argument was attempted,

quickly dismissed by a peremptory order from the official. The doubtful passport was obviously put on one

side for further examination, and the unfortunate owner thereof detained, until he or she had been able to give

more satisfactory references to the representatives of the Committee of Public Safety, stationed at Boulogne.

This process of examination necessarily took a long time. Marguerite was getting horribly tired, her feet

ached and she scarcely could hold herself upright: yet she watched all these people mechanically, making

absurd little guesses in her weary mind as to whose passport would find favour in the eyes of the official, and

Suspect! a terrible word these times! since Merlin's terrible law decreed now that every man, woman or child,

How sorry she felt for those whose passports were detained: who tried to argueso needlessly!and who

were finally led off by a soldier, who had stepped out from somewhere in the dark, and had to await further

As to herself, she felt quite safe: the passport given to her by Chauvelin's own accomplice was sure to be

Then suddenly her heart seemed to give a sudden leap and then to stop in its beating for a second or two. In

one of the passengers, a man who was just passing in front of the tent, she had recognized the form and

He had no passport to show, but evidently the official knew who he was, for he stood up and saluted, and

listened deferentially whilst the ex ambassador apparently gave him a few instructions. It seemed to

Marguerite that these instructions related to two women who were close behind Chauvelin at the time, and

who presently seemed to file past without going through the usual formalities of showing their passports. But

of this she could not be quite sure. The women were closely hooded and veiled and her own attention had

Yet what more natural than that Chauvelin should be here now? His object accomplished, he had no doubt

posted to Dover, just as she had done. There was no difficulty in that, and a man of his type and importance

would always have unlimited means and money at his command to accomplish any journey he might desire

There was nothing strange or even unexpected in the man's presence here; and yet somehow it had made the

whole, awful reality more tangible, more wholly unforgettable. Marguerite remembered his abject words to

her, when first she had seen him at the Richmond fete: he said that he had fallen into disgrace, that, having

failed in his service to the Republic, he had been relegated to a subordinate position, pushed aside with

Well! all that was a lie, of course, a cunning method of gaining access into her house; of that she had already

been convinced, when Candeille provoked the esclandre which led to the challenge.

That on French soil he seemed in anything but a subsidiary position, that he appeared to rule rather than to

As the actress had been a willing tool in the cunning hands of Chauvelin, so were probably all these people

around her. Where others cringed in the face of officialism, the exambassador had stepped forth as a master:

he had shown a badge, spoken a word mayhap, and the man in the tent who had made other people tremble,

It was all very simple and very obvious: but Marguerite's mind has been asleep, and it was the sight of the

In a moment now her brain was active and alert, and presently it seemed to her as if another figuretaller

than those around had crossed the barrier immediately in the wake of Chauvelin. Then she chided herself

It could not be her husband. Not yet! He had gone by water, and would scarce be in Boulogne before the

Ah! now at last came the turn of the secondclass passengers! There was a general bousculade and the human

bundle began to move. Marguerite lost sight of the tent and its aweinspiring appurtenances: she was a mere

unit again in this herd on the move. She too progressed along slowly, one step at a time; it was wearisome

and she was deadly tired. She was beginning to form plans now that she had arrived in France. All along she

had made up her mind that she would begin by seeking out the Abbe Foucquet, for he would prove a link

'twixt her husband and herself. She knew that Percy would communicate with the abbe; had he not told her

that the rescue of the devoted old man from the clutches of the Terrorists would be one of the chief objects of

his journey? It had never occurred to her what she would do if she found the Abbe Foucquet gone from

The rough words roused her from her meditations. She had moved forward, quite mechanically, her mind

elsewhere, her thoughts not following the aim of her feet. Thus she must have crossed the bridge along with

some of the crowd, must have landed on the jetty, and reached the front of the tent, without really knowing

Ah yes! her passport! She had quite forgotten that! But she had it by her, quite in order, given to her in a fit of

tardy remorse by Demoiselle Candeille, the intimate friend of one of the most influential members of the

She took the passport from the bosom of her dress and handed it to the man in the official dress.

"Celine Dumont," she replied unhesitatingly, for had she not rehearsed all this in her mind dozens of times,

until her tongue could rattle off the borrowed name as easily as it could her own; "servitor to Citizeness

The man who had very carefully been examining the paper the while, placed it down on the table deliberately

"Tricks? I don't understand!" she said quietly, for she was not afraid. The passport was en regle: she knew she

"Oh! but I think you do!" retorted the official with a sneer, "and 'tis a mighty clever one, I'll allow. Celine

Dumont, ma foi! Not badly imagined, ma petite mere: and all would have passed off splendidly;

unfortunately, Celine Dumont, servitor to Citizeness Desiree Candeille, passed through these barriers along

And with long, grimy finger he pointed to an entry in the large book which lay open before him, and wherein

he had apparently been busy making notes of the various passengers who had filed past him.

Then he looked up with a triumphant leer at the calm face of Marguerite. She still did not feel really

frightened, only puzzled and perturbed; but all the blood had rushed away from her face, leaving her cheeks

"You are making a mistake, Citizen," she said very quietly. "I am Citizeness Candeille's maid. She gave me

the passport herself, just before I left for England; if you will ask her the question, she will confirm what I

But the man only shrugged his shoulders and laughed derisively. The incident evidently amused him, yet he

must have seen many of the same sort; in the far corner of the tent Marguerite seemed to discern a few

moving forms, soldiers, she thought, for she caught sight of a glint like that of steel. One or two men stood

close behind the official at the desk, and the sentinels were to the right and left of the tent.

With an instinctive sense of appeal, Marguerite looked round from one face to the other: but each looked

absolutely impassive and stolid, quite uninterested in this little scene, the exact counterpart of a dozen others,

"He! la! la! petite mere!" said the official in the same tone of easy persiflage which he had adopted all along,

"but we do know how to concoct a pretty lie, aye! and so circumstantially too! Unfortunately it was

Citizeness Desiree Candeille herself who happened to be standing just where you are at the present moment,

along with her maid, Celine Dumont, both of whom were specially signed for and recommended as perfectly

trustworthy, by no less a person than Citoyen Chauvelin of the Committee of Public Safety."

"But I assure you that there is a mistake," pleased Marguerite earnestly, "'Tis the other woman who lied, I

"A truce on this," retorted the man peremptorily. "If everything is as you say, and if you have nothing to hide,

you'll be at liberty to continue your journey tomorrow, after you have explained yourself before the citizen

Marguerite tried another protest, just as those others had done, whom she had watched so mechanically

before. But already she knew that that would be useless, for she had felt that a heavy hand was being placed

In a flash she had understood and seen the whole sequel of the awful trap which had all along been destined

What a miserable antagonist the subtle schemes of a past master of intrigue as was Chauvelin. To have

enticed the Scarlet Pimpernel to France was a great thing! The challenge was clever, the acceptance of it by

the bold adventurer a forgone conclusion, but the master stroke of the whole plan was done, when she, the

wife, was enticed over too with the story of Candeille's remorse and the offer of the passport.

And how well did Chauvelin know feminine nature! How cleverly he had divined her thoughts, her feelings,

the impulsive way in which she would act; how easily he had guessed that, knowing her husband's danger,

Percy Blakeney in France! His wife a prisoner! Her freedom and safety in exchange for his life!

The hopelessness of it all struck her with appalling force, and her sense reeled with the awful finality of the

Yet instinct in her still struggled for freedom. Ahead of her, and all around, beyond the tent and in the far

distance there was a provocative alluring darkness: if she only could get away, only could reach the shelter of

that remote and sombre distance, she would hide, and wait, not blunder again, oh no! she would be prudent

One woman's struggles, against five men! It was pitiable, sublime, absolutely useless.

The man in the tent seemed to be watching her with much amusement for a moment or two, as her whole

graceful body stiffened for that absurd and unequal physical contest. He seemed vastly entertained at the sight

of this goodlooking young woman striving to pit her strength against five sturdy soldiers of the Republic.

"Allons! that will do now!" he said at last roughly. "We have no time to waste! Get the jade away, and let her

"Take her away!" he shouted more loudly, banging a grimy fist down on the table before him, as Marguerite

still struggled on with the blind madness of despair. "Pardi! can none of you rid us of that turbulent

The crowd behind were pushing forward: the guard within the tent were jeering at those who were striving to

drag Marguerite away: these latter were cursing loudly and volubly, until one of them, tired out, furious and

brutal, raised his heavy fist and with an obscene oath brought it crashing down upon the unfortunate woman's

Perhaps, though it was the work of a savage and cruel creature, the blow proved more merciful than it had

been intended: it had caught Marguerite full between the eyes; her aching senses, wearied and reeling

already, gave way beneath this terrible violence; her useless struggles ceased, her arms fell inert by her side:

and losing consciousness completely, her proud, unbendable spirit was spared the humiliating knowledge of

her final removal by the rough soldiers, and of the complete wreckage of her last, lingering hopes.

It was night when last Marguerite had clearly known what was going on around her; it was daylight before

Her head ached intolerably: that was the first conscious sensation which came to her; then she vaguely

perceived a pale ray of sunshine, very hazy and narrow, which came from somewhere in front of her and

struck her in the face. She kept her eyes tightly shut, for that filmy light caused her an increase of pain.

She seemed to be lying on her back, and her fingers wandering restlessly around felt a hard paillasse, beneath

their touch, then a rough pillow, and her own cloak laid over her: thought had not yet returned, only the

Anon she ventured to open her eyes, and gradually one or two objects detached themselves from out the haze

Firstly, the narrow aperturescarcely a windowfilled in with tiny squares of coarse, unwashed glass,

through which the rays of the morning sun were making kindly efforts to penetrate, then the cloud of dust

illumined by those same rays, and made upso it seemed to the poor tired brain that strove to perceiveof

myriads of abnormally large molecules, overabundant, and overactive, for they appeared to be dancing a

kind of wild saraband before Marguerite's aching eyes, advancing and retreating, forming themselves into

groups and taking on funny shapes of weird masques and grotesque faces which grinned at the unconscious

Through and beyond them Marguerite gradually became aware of three walls of a narrow room, dank and

grey, half covered with whitewash and half with greenish mildew! Yes! and there, opposite to her and

immediately beneath that semblance of a window, was another paillasse, and on it something dark, that

The words: "Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite ou la Mort!" stared out at her from somewhere beyond those active

molecules of dust, but she also saw just above the other paillasse the vague outline of a dark crucifix.

It seemed a terrible effort to coordinate all these things, and to try and realize what the room was, and what

was the meaning of the paillasse, the narrow window and the stained walls, too much altogether for the

Marguerite was content to wait and to let memory creep back as reluctantly as it would.

It was a gentle, rather tremulous voice which struck upon her ear. She opened her eyes, and noticed that the

dark something which had previously been on the opposite paillasse was no longer there, and that there

appeared to be a presence close to her only vaguely defined, someone kindly and tender who had spoken to

her in French, with that soft singsong accent peculiar to the Normandy peasants, and who now seemed to be

"They gave me this for you!" continued the tremulous voice close to her ear. "I think it would do you good, if

A hand and arm was thrust underneath the rough pillow, causing her to raise her head a little. A glass was

The hand that held the glass was all wrinkled, brown and dry, and trembled slightly, but the arm which

She did as she was bid, and was ready enough to close her eyes. It seemed to her presently as if something

had been interposed between her aching head and that trying ray of white September sun.

Perhaps she slept peacefully for a little while after that, for though her head was still very painful, her mouth

and throat felt less parched and dry. Through this sleep or semblance of sleep, she was conscious of the same

Thus she lay, during the greater part of the day. Not quite fully conscious, not quite awake to the awful

From time to time the same kind and trembling hands would with gentle pressure force a little liquid food

through her unwilling lips: some warm soup, or anon a glass of milk. Beyond the pain in her head, she was

conscious of no physical ill; she felt at perfect peace, and an extraordinary sense of quiet and repose seemed

to pervade this small room, with its narrow window through which the rays of the sun came gradually in

more golden splendour as the day drew towards noon, and then they vanished altogether.

The drony voice close beside her acted as a soporific upon her nerves. In the afternoon she fell into a real and

She was a prisoner in the hands of those who long ago had sworn to bring The Scarlet Pimpernel to death!

She! his wife, a hostage in their hands! her freedom and safety offered to him as the price of his own! Here

there was no question of dreams or of nightmares: no illusions as to the ultimate intentions of her husband's

enemies. It was all a reality, and even now, before she had the strength fully to grasp the whole nature of this

horrible situation, she knew that by her own act of mad and passionate impulse, she had hopelessly

For with that sublime confidence in him begotten of her love, she never for a moment doubted which of the

two alternatives he would choose, when once they were placed before him. He would sacrifice himself for

For herself, her own sufferings, her danger or humiliation she cared nothing! Nay! at this very moment she

was conscious of a wild passionate desire for death. ... In this sudden onrush of memory and of thought she

wished with all her soul and heart and mind to die here suddenly, on this hard paillasse, in this lonely and

dark prison ... so that she should be out of the way once and for all ... so that she should NOT be the hostage

He would suffer acutely, terribly at her loss, because he loved her above everything else on earth, he would

suffer in every fibre of his passionate and ardent nature, but he would not then have to endure the

humiliations, the awful alternatives, the galling impotence and miserable death, the relentless "eitheror"

And then came a revulsion of feeling. Marguerite's was essentially a buoyant and active nature, a keen brain

which worked and schemed and planned, rather than one ready to accept the inevitable.

Hardly had these thoughts of despair and of death formulated themselves in her mind, than with brilliant

Already her mind had flown instinctively to thoughts of escape. Had she the right to despair? She, the wife

and intimate companion of the man who had astonished the world with his daring, his prowess, his amazing

good luck, she to imagine for a moment that in this allsupreme moment of adventurous life the Scarlet

Was not English society peopled with men, women and children whom his ingenuity had rescued from

plights quite as seemingly hopeless as her own, and would not all the resources of that inventive brain be

brought to bear upon this rescue which touched him nearer and more deeply than any which he had attempted

Now Marguerite was chiding herself for her doubts and for her fears. Already she remembered that amongst

the crowd on the landing stage she had perceived a figureunusually tallfollowing in the wake of

Chauvelin and his companions. Awakened hope had already assured her that she had not been mistaken, that

Percy, contrary to her own surmises, had reached Boulogne last night: he always acted so differently to what

anyone might expect, that it was quite possible that he had crossed over in the packetboat after all

Oh yes! the more she thought about it all, the more sure was she that Percy was already in Boulogne, and that

What right had she to doubt even for a moment that he would know how to reach her, howwhen the time

A warm glow began to fill her veins, she felt excited and alert, absolutely unconscious now of pain or fatigue,

She raised herself slightly, leaning on her elbow: she was still very weak and the slight movement had made

her giddy, but soon she would be strong and well ... she must be strong and well and ready to do his bidding

"Ah! you are better, my child, I see ..." said that quaint, tremulous voice again, with its soft singsong accent,

"but you must not be so venturesome, you know. The physician said that you had received a cruel blow. The

brain has been rudely shaken ... and you must lie quite still all today, or your poor little head will begin to

Marguerite turned to look at the speaker, and in spite of her excitement, of her sorrow and of her anxieties,

she could not help smiling at the whimsical little figure which sat opposite to her, on a very rickety chair,

solemnly striving with slow and measured movement of hand and arm, and a large supply of breath, to get up

The figure was slender and almost wizened, the thin shoulders round with an habitual stoop, the lean shanks

were encased in a pair of muchdarned, coarse black stockings. It was the figure of an old man, with a gentle,

clearcut face furrowed by a forest of wrinkles, and surmounted by scanty white locks above a smooth

He had looked across at Marguerite as he spoke, and a pair of innately kind and mild blue eyes were fixed

with tender reproach upon her. Marguerite thought that she had never seen quite so much goodness and

simpleheartedness portrayed on any face before. It literally beamed out of those pale blue eyes, which

The old man wore a tattered garment, a miracle of shining cleanliness, which had once been a soutane of

smooth black cloth, but was now a mass of patches and threadbare at shoulders and knees. He seemed deeply

intent in the task of polishing his shoes, and having delivered himself of his little admonition, he very

Marguerite's first and most natural instinct had, of course, been one of dislike and mistrust of anyone who

appeared to be in some way on guard over her. But when she took in every detail of the quaint figure of the

old man, his scrupulous tidiness of apparel, the resigned stoop of his shoulders, and met in full the gaze of

those moist eyes, she felt that the whole aspect of the man, as he sat there polishing his shoes, was infinitely

"Who are you?" asked Lady Blakeney at last, for the old man after looking at her with a kind of appealing

"A priest of the good God, my dear child," replied the old man with a deep sigh and a shake of his scanty

locks, "who is not allowed to serve his divine Master any longer. A poor old fellow, very harmless and very

"You must not look upon me as a jailer because of what I say, my child," he added with a quaint air of

deference and apology. "I am very old and very small, and only take up a very little room. I can make myself

very scarce; you shall hardly know that I am here. They forced me to it much against my will. ... But they are

strong and I am weak, how could I deny them since they put me here. After all," he concluded naively,

"perhaps it is the will of le bon Dieu, and He knows best, my child, He knows best."

The shoes evidently refused to respond any further to the old man's efforts at polishing them. He

contemplated them now, with a whimsical look of regret on his furrowed face, then set them down on the

Marguerite was silently watching him, still leaning on her elbow. Evidently her brain was still numb and

fatigued, for she did not seem able to grasp all that the old man said. She smiled to herself too as she watched

him. How could she look upon him as a jailer? He did not seem at all like a Jacobin or a Terrorist, there was

nothing of the dissatisfied democrat, of the snarling anarchist ready to lend his hand to any act of ferocity

directed against a socalled aristocrat, about this pathetic little figure in the ragged soutane and worn shoes.

He seemed singularly bashful too and ill at ease, and loath to meet Marguerite's great, ardent eyes, which

"You must forgive me, my daughter," he said shyly, "for concluding my toilet before you. I had hoped to be

quite ready before you woke, but I had some trouble with my shoes; except for a little water and soap the

prison authorities will not provide us poor captives with any means of cleanliness and tidiness, and le bon

"But there, there," he added fussily, "I must not continue to gossip like this. You would like to get up, I know,

and refresh your face and hands with a little water. Oh! you will see how well I have thought it out. I need not

interfere with you at all, and when you make your little bit of toilette, you will feel quite alone ... just as if the

He began busying himself about the room, dragging the rickety, rush bottomed chairs forward. There were

four of these in the room, and he began forming a kind of bulwark with them, placing two side by side, then

"You will see, my child, you will see!" he kept repeating at intervals as the work of construction progressed.

It was no easy matter, for he was of low stature, and his hands were unsteady from apparently uncontrollable

Marguerite, leaning slightly forward, her chin resting in her hand, was too puzzled and anxious to grasp the

humour of this comical situation. She certainly did not understand. This old man had in some sort of way, and

for a hitherto unexplained reason, been set as a guard over her; it was not an unusual device on the part of the

inhuman wretches who now ruled France, to add to the miseries and terrors of captivity, where a woman of

refinement was concerned, the galling outrage of never leaving her alone for a moment.

That peculiar form of mental torture, surely the invention of brains rendered mad by their own ferocious

cruelty, was even now being inflicted on the hapless, dethroned Queen of France. Marguerite, in far off

England, had shuddered when she heard of it, and in her heart had prayed, as indeed every pureminded

woman did then, that proud, unfortunate Marie Antoinette might soon find release from such torments in

There was evidently some similar intention with regard to Marguerite herself in the minds of those who now

held her prisoner. But this old man seemed so feeble and so helpless, his very delicacy of thought as he built

up a screen to divide the squalid room in two, proved him to be singularly inefficient for the task of a

When the four chairs appeared fairly steady, and in comparatively little danger of toppling, he dragged the

paillasse forward and propped it up against the chairs. Finally he drew the table along, which held the cracked

ewer and basin, and placed it against this improvised partition: then he surveyed the whole construction with

"There now!" he said, turning a face beaming with satisfaction to Marguerite, "I can continue my prayers on

the other side of the fortress. Oh! it is quite safe ..." he added, as with a fearsome hand he touched his

engineering feat with gingerly pride, "and you will be quite private. ... Try and forget that the old abbe is in

the room. ... He does not count ... really he does not count ... he has ceased to be of any moment these many

He was obviously prattling on in order to hide his nervous bashfulness. He ensconced himself behind his own

finely constructed bulwark, drew a breviary from his pocket and having found a narrow ledge on one of the

chairs, on which he could sit, without much danger of bringing the elaborate screen onto the top of his head,

Marguerite watched him for a little while longer: he was evidently endeavouring to make her think that he

had become oblivious of her presence, and his transparent little manoeuvers amused and puzzled her not a

He looked so comical with his fussy and shy ways, yet withal so gentle and so kindly that she felt completely

She tried to raise herself still further and found the process astonishingly easy. Her limbs still ached and the

violent, intermittent pain in her head certainly made her feel sick and giddy at times, but otherwise she was

not ill. She sat up on the paillasse, then put her feet to the ground and presently walked up to the improvised

dressingroom and bathed her face and hands. The rest had done her good, and she felt quite capable of co

ordinating her thoughts, of moving about without too much pain, and of preparing herself both mentally and

While she busied herself with her toilet her thoughts dwelt on the one all absorbing theme: Percy was in

Boulogne, he knew that she was here, in prison, he would reach her without fail, in fact he might

communicate with her at any moment now, and had without a doubt already evolved a plan of escape for her,

more daring and ingenious than any which he had conceived hitherto; therefore, she must be ready, and

prepared for any eventuality, she must be strong and eager, in no way despondent, for if he were here, would

By the time she had smoothed her hair and tidied her dress, Marguerite caught herself singing quite

The old man looked up from his breviary, and saw Marguerite's great earnest eyes fixed with obvious calm

and trust upon him. She had finished her toilet as well as she could, had shaken up and tidied the paillasse,

and was now sitting on the edge of it, her hands clasped between her knees. There was something which still

puzzled her, and impatient and impulsive as she was, she had watched the abbe as he calmly went on reading

the Latin prayers for the last five minutes, and now she could contain her questionings no longer.

"So they did, my child, so they did ..." he replied with a sigh, as he quietly closed his book and slipped it back

into his pocket. "Ah! they are very cunning ... and we must remember that they have the power. No doubt,"

added the old man, with his own, quaint philosophy, "no doubt le bon Dieu meant them to have the power, or

"By 'they' you mean the Terrorists and Anarchists of France, M. L'Abbe. ... The Committee of Public Safety

who pillage and murder, outrage women, and desecrate religion. ... Is that not so?"

"And it is 'they' who have set you to watch over me? ... I confess I don't understand ..."

She laughed, quite involuntarily indeed, for in spite of the reassurance in her heart her brain was still in a

"The good God forbid!" ejaculated the old man, raising protesting hands up toward the very distant, quite

invisible sky. "How could I, a humble priest of the Lord, range myself with those who would flout and defy

"Ah, yes!" he sighed. "But I am very helpless. This was my cell. I had been here with Francois and Felicite,

my sister's children, you know. Innocent lambs, whom those fiends would lead to slaughter. Last night," he

continued, speaking volubly, "the soldiers came in and dragged Francois and Felicite out of this room, where,

in spite of the danger before us, in spite of what we suffered, we had contrived to be quite happy together. I

could read the Mass, and the dear children would say their prayers night and morning at my knee."

He paused awhile. The unshed tears in his mild blue eyes struggled for freedom now, and one or two flowed

slowly down his wrinkled cheek. Marguerite, though heartsore and full of agonizing sorrow herself, felt her

whole noble soul go out to this kind old man, so pathetic, so high and simpleminded in his grief.

"When the children had gone, they brought you in here, mon enfant, and laid you on the paillasse where

Felicite used to sleep. You looked very white, and stricken down, like one of God's lambs attacked by the

ravening wolf. Your eyes were closed and you were blissfully unconscious. I was taken before the governor

of the prison, and he told me that you would share the cell with me for a time, and that I was to watch you

The old man paused again. Evidently what he had to say was very difficult to put into words. He groped in

his pockets and brought out a large bandana handkerchief, red and yellow and green, with which he began to

mop his moist forehead. The quaver in his voice and the trembling of his hands became more apparent and

"They said that if I guarded you well, Felicite and Francois would be set free," replied the old man after a

while, during which he made vigorous efforts to overcome his nervousness, "and that if you escaped the

There was silence in the little room now. The Abbe was sitting quite still, clasping his trembling fingers, and

Marguerite neither moved nor spoke. What the old man had just said was very slowly finding its way to the

innermost cells of her brain. Until her mind had thoroughly grasped the meaning of it all, she could not trust

It was some seconds before she fully understood it all, before she realized what it meant not only to her, but

indirectly to her husband. Until now she had not been fully conscious of the enormous wave of hope which

almost in spite of herself had risen triumphant above the dull, grey sea of her former despair; only now when

it had been shattered against this deadly rock of almost superhuman devilry and cunning did she understand

No bolts and bars, no fortified towers or inaccessible fortresses could prove so effectual a prison for

This meant that even if Percy knew, even if he could reach her, he could never set her free, since her safety

It would require more than the ingenuity of the Scarlet Pimpernel himself to untie this Gordian knot.

"I don't mind for myself, of course," the old man went on with gentle philosophy. "I have lived my life. What

matters if I die tomorrow, or if I linger on until my earthly span is legitimately run out? I am ready to go

home whenever my Father calls me. But it is the children, you see. I have to think of them. Francois is his

mother's only son, the breadwinner of the household, a good lad and studious too, and Felicite has always

"Oh! don't ... for pity's sake, don't ..." moaned Marguerite in an agony of helplessness. "I understand ... you

need not fear for your children, M. l'Abbe: no harm shall come to them through me."

Then, as Marguerite had once more relapsed into silence, he fumbled for his beads, and his gentle voice

began droning the Paters and Aves wherein no doubt his childlike heart found peace and solace.

He understood that the poor woman would not wish to speak, he knew as well as she did the overpowering

strength of his helpless appeal. Thus the minutes sped on, the jailer and the captive, tied to one another by the

strongest bonds that hand of man could forge, had nothing to say to one another: he, the old priest, imbued

with the traditions of his calling, could pray and resign himself to the will of the Almighty, but she was young

and ardent and passionate, she loved and was beloved, and an impassable barrier was built up between her

A barrier fashioned by the weak hands of children, one of whom was delicate and blind. Outside was air and

freedom, reunion with her husband, an agony of happy remorse, a kiss from his dear lips, and trembling held

her back from it all, because of Francois who was the breadwinner and of Felicite who was blind.

Mechanically now Marguerite rose again, and like an automaton lifeless and thoughtlessshe began

putting the dingy, squalid room to rights. The Abbe helped her demolish the improvised screen; with the

same gentle delicacy of thought which had caused him to build it up, he refrained from speaking to her now:

"My name is Foucquet," he replied, "Jean Baptiste Marie Foucquet, late parish priest of the Church of Saint

Foucquet! This was l'Abbe Foucquet! the faithful friend and servant of the de Marny family.

What a wealth of memories crowded in on her mind at sound of that name! Her beautiful home at Richmond,

her brilliant array of servants and guests, His Royal Highness at her side! life in free, joyous happy

Englandhow infinitely remote it now seemed. Her ears were filled with the sound of a voice, drawly and

quaint and gentle, a voice and a laugh half shy, wholly mirthful, and oh! so infinitely dear:

"I think a little sea voyage and English country air would suit the Abbe Foucquet, m'dear, and I only mean to

Oh! the joy and confidence expressed in those words! the daring, the ambition! the pride! and the soft,

languorous air of the oldworld garden round her then, the passion of his embrace! the heavy scent of late

And now a narrow prison cell, and that pathetic, tender little creature there, with trembling hands and

teardimmed eyes, the most powerful and most relentless jailer which the ferocious cunning of her deadly

The Abbe did not know that Mlle. de Marny had succeeded in reaching England safely and was overjoyed to

He recounted to Marguerite the story of the Marny jewels: how he had put them safely away in the crypt of

his little church, until the Assembly of the Convention had ordered the closing of the churches, and placed

"With me it has only been prison so far," continued the old man simply, "but prison has rendered me just as

helpless as the guillotine would have done, for the enemies of le bon Dieu have ransacked the Church of

But it was obvious joy for the Abbe to talk of Juliette Marny's happiness. Vaguely, in his remote little

provincial cure, he had heard of the prowess and daring of the Scarlet Pimpernel and liked to think that

"The good God will reward him and those whom he cares for," added Abbe Foucquet with that earnest belief

in divine interference which seemed so strangely pathetic under these present circumstances.

Marguerite sighed, and for the first time in this terrible soulstirring crisis through which she was passing so

bravely, she felt a beneficent moisture in her eyes: the awful tension of her nerves relaxed. She went up to the

old man took his wrinkled hand in hers and falling on her knees beside him she eased her overburdened heart

The day that Citizen Chauvelin's letter was received by the members of the Committee of Public Safety was

The Moniteur tells us that in the Seance of September 22nd, 1793, or Vendemiaire 1st of the Year I. it was

decreed that sixty prisoners, not absolutely proved guilty of treason against the Republiconly suspected

The Committee was inclined to be magnanimous. Ferocity yielded for the moment to the elusive joy of

A glorious prize was about to fall into the hands of those who had the welfare of the people at heart.

Robespierre and his decemvirs rejoiced, and sixty persons had cause to rejoice with them. So be it! There

were plans evolved already as to national fetes and wholesale pardons when that impudent and meddlesome

Wholesale pardons which could easily be rescinded afterwards. Even with those sixty it was a mere respite.

Those of le Salut Public only loosened their hold for a while, were nobly magnanimous for a day, quite

The Scarlet Pimpernel is in France or will be very soon, and on an appointed day he will present himself

conveniently to the soldiers of the Republic for capture and for subsequent guillotine. England is at war with

us, there is nothing therefore further to fear from her. We might hang every Englishman we can lay hands on,

and England could do no more than she is doing at the present moment: bombard our ports, bluster and

threaten, join hands with Flanders, and Austria and Sardinia, and the devil if she choose.

Allons! vogue la galere! The Scarlet Pimpernel is perhaps on our shores at this very moment! Our most

"I guarantee to you, Citizen Robespierre, and to the Members of the Revolutionary Government who have

Robespierre's sensuous lips curl into a sarcastic smile. Citizen Chauvelin's pen was every florid in its style:

"entrusted me with the delicate mission," is hardly the way to describe an order given under penalty of death.

"... that four days from this date, at one hour after sunset, the man who goes by the mysterious name of the

Scarlet Pimpernel will be on the southern ramparts of Boulogne, at the extreme southern corner of the town."

"Four days from this date ..." and Citizen Chauvelin's letter is dated the nineteenth of September, 1793.

"Too much of an aristocratMonsieur le Marquis Chauvelin ..." sneers Merlin, the Jacobin. "He does not

know that all good citizens had called that date the 28th Fructidor, Year I. of the Republic."

"No matter," retorts Robespierre with impatient frigidity, "whatever we may call the day it was fortyeight

hours ago, and in fortyeight hours more than damned Englishman will have run his head into a noose, from

"And you believe in Citizen Chauvelin's assertion," commented Danton with a lazy shrug of the shoulders.

"Only because he asks for help from us," quoth Robespierre drily; "he is sure that the man will be there, but

But many were inclined to think that Chauvelin's letter was an idle boast. They knew nothing of the

circumstances which had caused that letter to be written: they could not conjecture how it was that the

exambassador could be so precise in naming the day and hour when the enemy of France would be at the

Nevertheless Citizen Chauvelin asks for help, and help must not be denied him. There must be no shadow of

Chauvelin had been weak once, had allowed the prize to slip through his fingers; it must not occur again. He

has a wonderful head for devising plans, but he needs a powerful hand to aid him, so that he may not fail

Collot d'Herbois, just home from Lyons and Tours, is the right man in an emergency like this. Citizen Collot

is full of ideas; the inventor of the "Noyades" is sure to find a means of converting Boulogne into one

gigantic prison out of which the mysterious English adventurer will find it impossible to escape.

And whilst the deliberations go on, whilst this committee of butchers are busy slaughtering in imagination the

game they have not yet succeeded in bringing down, there comes another messenger from Citizen Chauvelin.

He must have ridden hard on the other one's heels, and something very unexpected and very sudden must

This time it is curt and to the point. Robespierre unfolds it and reads it to his colleagues.

"We have caught the womanhis wifethere may be murder attempted against my person, send me some

Robespierre's lips curl in satisfaction, showing a row of yellowish teeth, long and sharp like the fangs of a

wolf. A murmur like unto the snarl of a pack of hyenas rises round the table, as Chauvelin's letter is handed

Everyone has guessed the importance of this preliminary capture: "the womanhis wife." Chauvelin

evidently thinks much of it, for he anticipates an attempt against his life, nay! he is quite prepared for it, ready

He only thinks of his duty, not of his life; he does not fear for himself, only that the fruits of his skill might be

Well! this English adventurer is capable of any act of desperation to save his wife and himself, and Citizen

Thus, Citizen Collot d'Herbois is despatched forthwith to Boulogne to be a helpmeet and counsellor to

Everything that can humanly be devised must be done to keep the woman secure and to set the trap for that

Once he is caught the whole of France shall rejoice, and Boulogne, who had been instrumental in running the

A general amnesty for all prisoners the day the Scarlet Pimpernel is captured. A public holiday and a pardon

for all natives of Boulogne who are under sentence of death: they shall be allowed to find their way to the

various English boatstrading and smuggling craft that always lie at anchor in the roads there.

The Committee of Public Safety feel amazingly magnanimous towards Boulogne; a proclamation embodying

the amnesty and the pardon is at once drawn up and signed by Robespierre and his bloodthirsty Council of

Ten, it is entrusted to Citizen Collot d'Herbois to be read out at every corner of the ramparts as an inducement

to the little town to do its level best. The Englishman and his wifecaptured in Boulognewill both be

subsequently brought to Paris, formally tried on a charge of conspiring against the Republic and guillotined

as English spies, but Boulogne shall have the greater glory and shall reap the first and richest reward.

And armed with the magnanimous proclamation, the orders for general rejoicings and a grand local fete,

armed also with any and every power over the entire city, its municipality, its garrisons, its forts, for himself

and his colleague Chauvelin, Citizen Collot d'Herbois starts for Boulogne forthwith.

Needless to tell him not to let the grass grow under his horse's hoofs. The capture of the Scarlet Pimpernel,

though not absolutely an accomplished fact, is nevertheless a practical certainty, and no one rejoices over this

Riding and driving, getting what relays of horses or waggons from roadside farms that he can, Collot is not

It is 157 miles to Boulogne by road, and Collot, burning with ambition to be in at the death, rides or drives as

He does not stop to eat, but munches chunks of bread and cheese in the recess of the lumbering chaise or

waggon that bears him along whenever his limbs refuse him service and he cannot mount a horse.

The chronicles tell us that twentyfour hours after he left Paris, half dazed with fatigue, but ferocious and

eager still, he is borne to the gates of Boulogne by an old cart horse requisitioned from some distant farm, and

which falls down, dead, at the Porte Gayole, whilst its rider, with a last effort, loudly clamours for admittance

In his memorable interview with Robespierre, the day before he left for England, Chauvelin had asked that

absolute power be given him, in order that he might carry out the plans for the capture of the Scarlet

Pimpernel, which he had in his mind. Now that he was back in France he had no cause to complain that the

As soon as he heard that a woman had been arrested in the act of uttering a passport in the name of Celine

Dumont, he guessed at once that Marguerite Blakeney had, with characteristic impulse, fallen into the trap

He was not the least surprised at that. He knew human nature, feminine nature, far too well, ever to have been

in doubt for a moment that Marguerite would follow her husband without calculating either costs or risks.

Ye gods! the irony of it all! Had she not been called the cleverest woman in Europe at one time? Chauvelin

himself had thus acclaimed her, in those olden days, before she and he became such mortal enemies, and

when he was one of the many satellites that revolved round brilliant Marguerite St. Just. And tonight, when

a sergeant of the town guards brought him news of her capture, he smiled grimly to himself; the cleverest

Once more she had betrayed her husband into the hands of those who would not let him escape a second time.

And now she had done it with her eyes open, with loving, passionate heart which ached for self sacrifice,

The sergeant was waiting for orders. Citizen Chauvelin had come to Boulogne, armed with more full and

more autocratic powers than any servant of the new republic had ever been endowed with before. The

governor of the town, the captain of the guard, the fort and municipality were all as abject slaves before him.

As soon as he had taken possession of the quarters organized for him in the town hall, he had asked for a list

of prisoners who for one cause or another were being detained pending further investigations.

The list was long and contained many names which were of not the slightest interest to Chauvelin: he passed

He did not want the guard to be burdened with unnecessary duties, nor the prisons of the little seaport town

to be inconveniently encumbered. He wanted room, space, air, the force and intelligence of the entire town at

"A womanname unknownfound in possession of a forged passport in the name of Celine Dumont, maid

to the Citizeness Desiree Candeille attempted to landwas interrogated and failed to give satisfactory

This was one of the last names on the list, the only one of any importance to Citizen Chauvelin. When he read

it he nearly drove his nails into the palms of his hands, so desperate an effort did he make not to betray before

For a moment he shaded his eyes against the glare of the lamp, but it was not long before he had formulated a

He asked for a list of prisoners already detained in the various forts. The name of l'Abbe Foucquet with those

of his niece and nephew attracted his immediate attention. He asked for further information respecting these

people, heard that the boy was a widow's only son, the sole supporter of his mother's declining years: the girl

Pardi! the very thing! L'Abbe himself, the friend of Juliette Marny, the pathetic personality around which this

final adventure of the Scarlet Pimpernel was intended to revolve! and these two young people! his sister's

A few quick orders to the sergeant of the guard, and l'Abbe Foucquet, weak, helpless and gentle, became the

relentless jailer who would guard Marguerite more securely than a whole regiment of loyal soldiers could

Then, having despatched a messenger to the Committee of Public Safety, Chauvelin laid himself down to

rest. Fate had not deceived him. He had thought and schemed and planned, and events had shaped themselves

exactly as foreseen, and the fact that Marguerite Blakeney was at the present moment a prisoner in his hands

As for the Scarlet Pimpernel, Chauvelin could not very well conceive what he would do under these present

circumstances. The duel on the southern ramparts had of course become a farce, not likely to be enacted now

that Marguerite's life was at stake. The daring adventurer was caught in a network at last, from which all his

ingenuity, all his wit, his impudence and his amazing luck could never extricate him.

And in Chauvelin's mind there was still something more. Revenge was the sweetest emotion his bruised and

humbled pride could know: he had not yet tasted its complete intoxicating joy: but every hour now his cup of

In the meanwhile he was content to wait. The hours sped by and there was no news yet of that elusive

Pimpernel. Of Marguerite he knew nothing save that she was well guarded; the sentry who passed up and

down outside room No. 6 had heard her voice and that of the Abbe Foucquet, in the course of the afternoon.

Chauvelin had asked the Committee of Public Safety for aid in his difficult task, but fortyeight hours at least

must elapse before such aid could reach him. Fortyeight hours, during which the hand of an assassin might

be lurking for him, and might even reach him ere his vengeance was fully accomplished.

That was the only thought which really troubled him. He did not want to die before he had seen the Scarlet

Pimpernel a withered abject creature, crushed in fame and honour, too debased to find glorification even in

At this moment he only cared for his life because it was needed for the complete success of his schemes. No

one else he knew would have that note of personal hatred towards the enemy of France which was necessary

Robespierre and all the others only desired the destruction of a man who had intrigued against the reign of

terror which they had established; his death on the guillotine, even if it were surrounded with the halo of

martyrdom, would have satisfied them completely. Chauvelin looked further than that. He hated the man! He

had suffered humiliation through him individually. He wished to see him as an object of contempt rather than

of pity. And because of the anticipation of this joy, he was careful of his life, and throughout those two days

which elapsed between the capture of Marguerite and the arrival of Collot d'Herbois at Boulogne, Chauvelin

never left his quarters at the Hotel de Ville, and requisitioned a special escort consisting of proved soldiers of

On the evening of the 22nd, after the arrival of Citizen Collot in Boulogne, he gave orders that the woman

from No. 6 cell be brought before him in the ground floor room of the Fort Gayole.

Two days of agonizing suspense, of alternate hope and despair, had told heavily on Marguerite Blakeney.

Her courage was still indomitable, her purpose firm and her faith secure, but she was without the slightest

vestige of news, entirely shut off from the outside world, left to conjecture, to scheme, to expect and to

The Abbe Foucquet had tried in his gentle way to be of comfort to her, and she in her turn did her very best

A message came to him twice during those fortyeight hours from Francois and Felicite, a little note

scribbled by the boy, or a token sent by the blind girl, to tell the Abbe that the children were safe and well,

that they would be safe and well so long as the Citizeness with the name unknown remained closely guarded

When these messages came, the old man would sigh and murmur something about the good God: and hope,

which perhaps had faintly risen in Marguerite's heart within the last hour or so, would once more sink back

Outside the monotonous walk of the sentry sounded like the perpetual thud of a hammer beating upon her

The one real terror which she felt was that she would go mad. Nay! that she was in a measure mad already.

For hours now,or was it days? ... or years? ... she had heard nothing save that rhythmic walk of the

sentinel, and the kindly, tremulous voice of the Abbe whispering consolations, or murmuring prayers in her

ears, she had seen nothing save that prison door, of rough deal, painted a dull grey, with great oldfashioned

She had kept her eyes fixed on that door until they burned and ached with wellnigh intolerable pain; yet she

felt that she could not look elsewhere, lest she missed the golden moment when the bolts would be drawn,

Yet for Percy's sake, because he might want her, because he might have need of her courage and of her

presence of mind, she tried to keep her wits about her. But it was difficult! oh! terribly difficult! especially

when the shade of evening began to gather in, and peopled the squalid, whitewashed room with innumerable

Then when the moon came up, a silver ray crept in through the tiny window and struck full upon that grey

Even now as there was a distinct sound of the pushing of bolts and bars, Marguerite thought that she was the

prey of hallucinations. The Abbe Foucquet was sitting in the remote and darkest corner of the room, quietly

telling his beads. His serene philosophy and gentle placidity could in no way be disturbed by the opening of

The room now seemed strangely gloomy and cavernous, with those deep, black shadows all around and that

Marguerite shuddered with one of those unaccountable premonitions of something evil about to come, which

The door swung slowly open upon its hinges: there was a quick word of command, and the light of a small oil

lamp struck full into the gloom. Vaguely Marguerite discerned a group of men, soldiers no doubt, for there

was a glint of arms and the suggestion of tricolour cockades and scarves. One of the men was holding the

lamp aloft, another took a few steps forward into the room. He turned to Marguerite, entirely ignoring the

"Your presence is desired by the citizen governor," he said curtly; "stand up and follow me."

"To where my men will take you. Now then, quick's the word. The citizen governor does not like to wait."

At a word of command from him, two more soldiers now entered the room and placed themselves one on

each side of Marguerite, who, knowing that resistance was useless, had already risen and was prepared to go.

The Abbe tried to utter a word of protest and came quickly forward towards Marguerite, but he was

"Now then, calotin," said the first soldier with an oath, "this is none of your business. Forward! march!" he

added, addressing his men, "and you, Citizeness, will find it wiser to come quietly along and not to attempt

But Marguerite had no intention of resisting. She was too tired even to wonder as to what they meant to do

with her or whither they were going; she moved as in a dream and felt a hope within her that she was being

led to death: summary executions were the order of the day, she knew that, and sighed for this simple solution

She was being led along a passage, stumbling ever and anon as she walked, for it was but dimly lighted by

the same little oil lamp, which one of the soldiers was carrying in front, holding it high up above his head:

then they went down a narrow flight of stone steps, until she and her escort reached a heavy oak door.

A halt was ordered at this point: and the man in command of the little party pushed the door open and walked

in. Marguerite caught sight of a room beyond, dark and gloomylooking, as was her own prison cell.

Somewhere on the left there was obviously a window; she could not see it but guessed that it was there

because the moon struck full upon the floor, ghostlike and spectral, well fitting in with the dreamlike state

In the centre of the room she could discern a table with a chair close beside it, also a couple of tallow candles,

which flickered in the draught caused no doubt by that open window which she could not see.

All these little details impressed themselves on Marguerite's mind, as she stood there, placidly waiting until

she should once more be told to move along. The table, the chair, that unseen window, trivial objects though

they were, assumed before her overwrought fancy an utterly disproportionate importance. She caught herself

presently counting up the number of boards visible on the floor, and watching the smoke of the

After a few minutes' weary waiting which seemed endless to Marguerite, there came a short word of

command from within and she was roughly pushed forward into the room by one of the men. The cool air of

a late September's evening gently fanned her burning temples. She looked round her and now perceived that

someone was sitting at the table, the other side of the tallowcandlesa man, with head bent over a bundle

He rose as she approached, and the flickering flame of the candles played weirdly upon the slight, sableclad

figure, illumining the keen, ferretlike face, and throwing fitful gleams across the deepset eyes and the

Mechanically Marguerite took the chair which the soldier drew towards her, ordering her curtly to sit down.

She seemed to have but little power to move. Though all her faculties had suddenly become preternaturally

alert at sight of this man, whose very life now was spent in doing her the most grievous wrong that one

human being can do to another, yet all these faculties were forcefully centred in the one mighty effort not to

She compelled her eyes to look at him fully and squarely, her lips not to tremble, her very heart to stop its

wild, excited beating. She felt his keen eyes fixed intently upon her, but more in curiosity than in hatred or

When she had sat down he came round the table and moved towards her. When he drew quite near, she

instinctively recoiled. It had been an almost imperceptible action on her part and certainly an involuntary one,

for she did not wish to betray a single thought or emotion, until she knew what he wished to say.

But he had noted her movementa sort of drawing up and stiffening of her whole person as he approached.

He seemed pleased to see it, for he smiled sarcastically but with evident satisfaction, and as if his purpose

was now accomplishedhe immediately withdrew and went back to his former seat on the other side of the

"But remain at attention outside, you and your men," he added, "ready to enter if I call."

It was Marguerite's turn to smile at this obvious sign of a lurking fear on Chauvelin's part, and a line of

The soldiers having obeyed and the oak door having closed upon them, Marguerite was now alone with the

She wondered when he would begin to speak and why he had sent for her. But he seemed in no hurry to

begin. Still shading his face with his hand, he was watching her with utmost attention: she, on the other hand,

was looking through and beyond him, with contemptuous indifference, as if his presence here did not interest

She would give him no opening for this conversation which he had sought and which she felt would prove

either purposeless or else deeply wounding to her heart and to her pride. She sat, therefore, quite still with the

flickering and yellow light fully illumining her delicate face, with its childlike curves, and delicate features,

"My desire to see you here tonight, must seem strange to you, Lady Blakeney," said Chauvelin at last.

Then, as she did not reply, he continued, speaking quite gently, almost deferentially:

"There are various matters of grave importance, which the events of the next twentyfour hours will reveal to

your ladyship: and believe me that I am actuated by motives of pure friendship towards you in this my effort

to mitigate the unpleasantness of such news as you might hear tomorrow perhaps, by giving you due

She turned great questioning eyes upon him, and in their expression she tried to put all the contempt which

"Ah! I fear me," he said, "that your ladyship, as usual doth me grievous wrong. It is but natural that you

"A truce on this foolery, M. Chauvelin," she broke in, with sudden impatient vehemence, "pray leave your

protestations of friendship and courtesy alone, there is no one here to hear them. I pray you proceed with

"Ah!" It was a sigh of satisfaction on the part of Chauvelin. Her anger and impatience even at this early stage

of the interview proved sufficiently that her icy restraint was only on the surface.

And Chauvelin always knew how to deal with vehemence. He loved to play with the emotions of a passionate

fellowcreature: it was only the imperturbably calm of a certain enemy of his that was wont to shake his own

"As your ladyship desires," he said, with a slight and ironical bow of the head. "But before proceeding

"Have you reflected what your present position means to that inimitable prince of dandies, Sir Percy

Is it necessary for your present purpose, Monsieur, that you should mention my husband's name at all?" she

"It is indispensable, fair lady," he replied suavely, "for is not the fate of your husband so closely intertwined

with yours, that his actions will inevitably be largely influenced by your own."

Marguerite gave a start of surprise, and as Chauvelin had paused she tried to read what hidden meaning lay

behind these last words of his. Was it his intention then to propose some bargain, one of those terrible

"eitheror's" of which he seemed to possess the malignant secret? Oh! if that was so, if indeed he had sent for

her in order to suggest one of those terrible alternatives of his, thenbe it what it may, be it the wildest

conception which the insane brain of a fiend could invent, she would accept it, so long as the man she loved

Therefore she turned to her archenemy in a more conciliatory spirit now, and even endeavoured to match

"I do not understand," she said tentatively. "How can my actions influence those of my husband? I am a

"Sir Percy Blakeney may be in Boulogne at any moment now," he interrupted quietly. "An I mistake not, few

places can offer such great attractions to that peerless gentleman of fashion than doth this humble provincial

town of France just at this present. ... Hath it not the honour of harbouring Lady Blakeney within its gates? ...

And your ladyship may indeed believe me when I say that the day that Sir Percy lands in our hospitable port,

two hundred pairs of eyes will be fixed upon him, lest he should wish to quit it again."

"And if there were two thousand, sir," she said impulsively, "they would not stop his coming or going as he

"Nay, fair lady," he said, with a smile, "are you then endowing Sir Percy Blakeney with the attributes which,

as popular fancy has it, belong exclusively to that mysterious English hero, the Scarlet Pimpernel?"

"A truce to your diplomacy, Monsieur Chauvelin," she retorted, goaded by his sarcasm, "why should we try

to fence with one another? What was the object of your journey to England? of the farce which you enacted

in my house, with the help of the woman Candeille? of that duel and that challenge, save that you desired to

"Shall we say that I succeeded admirably?" he continued, speaking with persistent urbanity and calm, "and

that I have strong cause to hope that the elusive Pimpernel will soon be a guest on our friendly shores? ...

There! you see I too have laid down the foils. ... As you say, why should we fence? Your ladyship is now in

Boulogne, soon Sir Percy will come to try and take you away from us, but believe me, fair lady, that it would

take more than the ingenuity and the daring of the Scarlet Pimpernel magnified a thousandfold to get him

Marguerite held her breath. She felt now as if the whole universe must stand still during the next supreme

There was to be an "unless" then? An "eitheror" more terrible no doubt than the one he had formulated

Chauvelin, she knew, was past master in the art of putting a knife at his victim's throat and of giving it just

But she felt quite calm, because her purpose was resolute. There is no doubt that during this agonizing

moment of suspense she was absolutely firm in her determination to accept any and every condition which

Chauvelin would put before her as the price of her husband's safety. After all, these conditions, since he

placed them before HER, could resolve themselves into questions of her own life against her husband's.

With that unreasoning impulse which was one of her most salient characteristics, she never paused to think

that, to Chauvelin, her own life or death were only the means to the great end which he had in view: the

Even now as she was watching him with eyes glowing and lips tightly closed, lest a cry of impatient agony

should escape her throat, he,like a snail that has shown its slimy horns too soon, and is not ready to face

the enemy as yet,seemed suddenly to withdraw within his former shell of careless suavity. The earnestness

of his tone vanished, giving place to light and easy conversation, just as if he were discussing social topics

"Nay!" he said pleasantly, "is not your ladyship taking this matter in too serious a spirit? Of a truth you

repeated my innocent word "unless" even as if I were putting knife at your dainty throat. Yet I meant naught

that need disturb you yet. Have I not said that I am your friend? Let me try and prove it to you."

"Difficult tasks always have had a great fascination for your humble servant. May I try?"

"Shall we then touch at the root of this delicate matter? Your ladyship, so I understand, is at this moment

under the impression that I desire to encompassshall I say?the death of an English gentleman for whom,

"What is so, M. Chauvelin?" she asked almost stupidly, for truly she had not even begun to grasp his

"You think that I am at this moment taking measures for sending the Scarlet Pimpernel to the guillotine?

"Never was so great an error committed by a clever woman. Your ladyship must believe me when I say that

the guillotine is the very last place in the world where I would wish to see that enigmatic and elusive

"Are you trying to fool me, M. Chauvelin? If so, for what purpose? And why do you lie to me like that?"

"On my honour, 'tis the truth. The death of Sir Percy Blakeney I may call him that, may I not?would ill

"What purpose? You must pardon me, Monsieur Chauvelin," she added with a quick, impatient sigh, "but of

a truth I am getting confused, and my wits must have become dull in the past few days. I pray to you to add to

your many protestations of friendship a little more clearness in your speech and, if possible, a little more

brevity. What then is the purpose which you had in view when you enticed my husband to come over to

"My purpose was the destruction of the Scarlet Pimpernel, not the death of Sir Percy Blakeney. Believe me, I

have a great regard for Sir Percy. He is a most accomplished gentleman, witty, brilliant, an inimitable dandy.

Why should he not grace with his presence the drawingrooms of London or of Brighton for many years to

She looked at him with puzzled inquiry. For one moment the thought flashed through her mind that, after all,

Chauvelin might be still in doubt as to the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel. ... But no! that hope was

madness. ... It was preposterous and impossible. ... But then, why? why? why? ... Oh God! for a little more

"What I have just said may seem a little enigmatic to your ladyship," he continued blandly, "but surely so

clever a woman as yourself, so great a lady as is the wife of Sir Percy Blakeney, Baronet, will be aware that

A long, bitter laugh, almost hysterical in its loud outburst, broke from the very depths of Marguerite's

"The destruction of his honour! ... ha! ha! ha! ha! ... of a truth, Monsieur Chauvelin, your inventive powers

have led you beyond the bounds of dreamland! ... Ha! ha! ha! ha! ... It is in the land of madness that you are

wandering, sir, when you talk in one breath of Sir Percy Blakeney and the possible destruction of his

But he remained apparently quite unruffled, and when her laughter had somewhat subsided, he said placidly:

Then he rose from his chair, and once more approached her. This time she did not shrink from him. The

suggestion which he had made just now, this talk of attacking her husband's honour rather than his life,

seemed so wild and preposterousthe conception truly of a mind unhingedthat she looked upon it as a

sign of extreme weakness on his part, almost as an acknowledgement of impotence.

But she watched him as he moved round the table ore in curiosity now than in fright. He puzzled her, and she

still had a feeling at the back of her mind that there must be something more definite and more evil lurking at

"Will your ladyship allow me to conduct you to yonder window?" he said, "the air is cool, and what I have to

His tone was one of perfect courtesy, even of respectful deference through which not the slightest trace of

sarcasm could be discerned, and she, still actuated by curiosity and interest, not in any way by fear, quietly

rose to obey him. Though she ignored the hand which he was holding out towards her, she followed him

All through this agonizing and soulstirring interview she had felt heavily oppressed by the close atmosphere

of the room, rendered nauseous by the evil smell of the smoky tallowcandles which were left to spread their

grease and smoke abroad unchecked. Once or twice she had gazed longingly towards the suggestion of pure

Chauvelin evidently had still much to say to her: the torturing, mental rack to which she was being subjected

had not yet fully done its work. It still was capable of one or two turns, a twist or so which might succeed in

crushing her pride and her defiance. Well! so be it! she was in the man's power: had placed herself therein

through her own unreasoning impulse. This interview was but one of the many soulagonies which she had

been called upon to endure, and if by submitting to it all she could in a measure mitigate her own faults and

be of help to the man she loved, she would find the sacrifice small and the mental torture easy to bear.

Therefore when Chauvelin beckoned to her to draw near, she went up to the window, and leaning her head

Chauvelin, without speaking, extended his hand out towards the city as if to invite Marguerite to gaze upon it.

She was quite unconscious what hour of the night it might be, but it must have been late, for the little town,

encircled by the stony arms of its forts, seemed asleep. The moon, now slowly sinking in the west, edged the

towers and spires with filmy lines of silver. To the right Marguerite caught sight of the frowning Beffroi,

which even as she gazed out began tolling its heavy bell. It sounded like the tocsin, dull and muffled. After

Ten o'clock! At this hour in faroff England, in fashionable London, the play was just over, crowds of gaily

dressed men and women poured out of the open gates of the theatres calling loudly for attendant or chaise.

Thence to balls or routs, gaily fluttering like so many butterflies, brilliant and irresponsible. ...

And in England also, in the beautiful gardens of her Richmond home, ofttimes at ten o'clock she had

wandered alone with Percy, when he was at home, and the spirit of adventure in him momentarily laid to rest.

Then, when the night was very dark and the air heavy with the scent of roses and lilies, she lay quiescent in

his arms in that little arbour beside the river. The rhythmic lapping of the waves was the only sound that

stirred the balmy air. He seldom spoke then, for his voice would shake whenever he uttered a word: but his

impenetrable armour of flippancy was pierced through and he did not speak because his lips were pressed to

A shudder of intense mental pain went through her now as she gazed on the sleeping city, and sweet

memories of the past turned to bitterness in this agonizing present. One by one as the moon gradually

disappeared behind a bank of clouds, the towers of Boulogne were merged in the gloom. In front of her far,

far away, beyond the flat sand dunes, the sea seemed to be calling to her with a ghostly and melancholy

The window was on the ground floor of the Fort, and gave direct onto the wide and shady walk which runs

along the crest of the city walls; from where she stood Marguerite was looking straight along the ramparts,

some thirty metres wide at this point, flanked on either side by the granite balustrade, and adorned with a

double row of ancient elms stunted and twisted into grotesque shapes by the persistent action of the wind.

"These wide ramparts are a peculiarity of this city..." said a voice close to her ear, "at times of peace they

form an agreeable promenade under the shade of the trees, and a delightful meetingplace for lovers ... or

The sound brought her back to the ugly realities of the present: the rose scented garden at Richmond, the

lazily flowing river, the tender memories which for that brief moment had confronted her from out a happy

past, suddenly vanished from her ken. Instead of these the brine laden seaair struck her quivering nostrils,

the echo of the old Beffroi died away in her ear, and now from out one of the streets or open places of the

sleeping city there came the sound of a raucous voice, shooting in monotonous tones a string of words, the

Not many feet below the window, the southern ramparts of the town stretched away into the darkness. She

felt unaccountably cold suddenly as she looked down upon them and, with aching eyes, tried to pierce the

gloom. She was shivering in spite of the mildness of this early autumnal night: her overwrought fancy was

peopling the lonely walls with unearthly shapes strolling along, discussing in spectral language a strange duel

which was to take place here between a noted butcher of men and a mad Englishman overfond of adventure.

The ghouls seemed to pass and repass along in front of her and to be laughing audibly because that mad

Englishman had been offered his life in exchange for his honour. They laughed and laughed, no doubt

because he refused the bargainEnglishmen were always eccentric, and in these days of equality and other

devices of a free and glorious revolution, honour was such a very marketable commodity that it seemed

ridiculous to prize it quite so highly. Then they strolled away again and disappeared, whilst Marguerite

distinctly heard the scrunching of the path beneath their feet. She leant forward to peer still further into the

darkness, for this sound had seemed so absolutely real, but immediately a detaining hand was place upon her

"The result, fair lady, would only be a broken leg or arm; the height is not great enough for picturesque

She drew back as if a viper had stung her; for the moment she had become oblivious of Chauvelin's presence.

However, she would not take notices of his taunt, and, after a slight pause, he asked her if she could hear the

"What he says at this present moment is of vast importance to your ladyship," he remarked drily.

"Your ladyship is a precious hostage. We are taking measures to guard our valuable property securely."

Marguerite thought of the Abbe Foucquet, who no doubt was still quietly telling his beads, even if in his heart

he had begun to wonder what had become of her. She thought of Francois, who was the breadwinner, and of

"Not as completely as we would wish. We know the daring of the Scarlet Pimpernel. We are not even

ashamed to admit that we fear his luck, his impudence and his marvellous ingenuity. ... Have I not told you

that I have the greatest possible respect for that mysterious English hero. ... An old priest and two young

children might be spirited away by that enigmatical adventurer, even whilst Lady Blakeney herself is made to

"Ah! I see your ladyship is taking my simple words as a confession of weakness," he continued, noting the

swift sigh of hope which had involuntarily escaped her lips. "Nay! and it please you, you shall despise me for

it. But a confession of weakness is the first sign of strength. The Scarlet Pimpernel is still at large, and whilst

"Aye! still at large!" she retorted with impulsive defiance. "Think you that all your bolts and bars, the

ingenuity of yourself and your colleagues, the collaboration of the devil himself, would succeed in outwitting

the Scarlet Pimpernel, now that his purpose will be to try and drag ME from out your clutches."

She felt hopeful and proud. Now that she had the pure air of heaven in her lungs, that from afar she could

smell the sea, and could feel that perhaps in a straight line of vision from where she stood, the "Day Dream"

with Sir Percy on board, might be lying out there in the roads, it seemed impossible that he should fail in

freeing her and those poor peoplean old man and two childrenwhose lives depended on her own.

"Hm! perhaps not! ... It of course will depend on you and your personality ... your feelings in such matters ...

and whether an English gentleman likes to save his own skin at the expense of others."

"Ah! I see," resumed Chauvelin quietly, "that your ladyship has not quite grasped the position. That public

crier is a long way off: the words have lingered on the evening breeze and have failed to reach your brain. Do

you suppose that I and my colleagues do not know that all the ingenuity of which the Scarlet Pimpernel is

capable will now be directed in piloting Lady Blakeney, and incidentally the Abbe Foucquet with his nephew

and niece, safely across the Channel! Four people! ... Bah! a bagatelle, for this mighty conspirator, who but

lately snatched twenty aristocrats from the prisons of Lyons. ... Nay! nay! two children and an old man were

not enough to guard our precious hostage, and I was not thinking of either the Abbe Foucquet or of the two

children, when I said that an English gentleman would not save himself at the expense of others."

"Of whom then were you thinking, Monsieur Chauvelin? Whom else have you set to guard the prize which

"Let me make my point clear. My colleague, Citizen Collot d'Herbois, rode over from Paris yesterday; like

myself he is a member of the Committee of Public Safety whose duty it is to look after the welfare of France

by punishing all those who conspire against her laws and the liberties of the people. Chief among these

conspirators, whom it is our duty to punish is, of course, that impudent adventurer who calls himself the

Scarlet Pimpernel. He has given the government of France a great deal of trouble through his

attemptsmostly successful, as I have already admitted,at frustrating the just vengeance which an

oppressed country has the right to wreak on those who have proved themselves to be tyrants and traitors."

"Is it necessary to recapitulate all this, Monsieur Chauvelin?" she asked impatiently.

"I think so," he replied blandly. "You see, my point is this. We feel that in a measure now the Scarlet

Pimpernel is in our power. Within the next few hours he will land at Boulogne ... Boulogne, where he has

agreed to fight a duel with me ... Boulogne, where Lady Blakeney happens to be at this present moment ... as

you see, Boulogne has a great responsibility to bear: just now she is to a certain extent the proudest city in

France, since she holds within her gates a hostage for the appearance on our shores of her country's most

bitter enemy. But she must not fall from that high estate. Her double duty is clear before her: she must guard

Lady Blakeney and capture the Scarlet Pimpernel; if she fail in the former she must be punished, if she

He paused and leaned out of the window again, whilst she watched him, breathless and terrified. She was

"Hark!" he said, looking straight at her. "Do you hear the crier now? He is proclaiming the punishment and

the reward. He is making it clear to the citizens of Boulogne that on the day when the Scarlet Pimpernel falls

into the hands of the Committee of Public Safety a general amnesty will be granted to all natives of Boulogne

who are under arrest at the present time, and a free pardon to all those who, born within these city walls, are

today under sentence of death. ... A noble reward, eh? welldeserved you'll admit. ... Should you wonder

then if the whole town of Boulogne were engaged just now in finding that mysterious hero, and delivering

him into our hands? ... How many mothers, sisters, wives, think you, at the present moment, would fail to lay

hands on the English adventurer, if a husband's or a son's life or freedom happened to be at stake? ... I have

some records there," he continued, pointing in the direction of the table, "which tell me that there are five and

thirty natives of Boulogne in the local prisons, a dozen more in the prisons of Paris; of these at least twenty

have been tried already and are condemned to death. Every hour that the Scarlet Pimpernel succeeds in

evading his captors so many deaths lie at his door. If he succeeds in once more reaching England safely three

score lives mayhap will be the price of his escape. ... Nay! but I see your ladyship is shivering with cold ..."

he added with a dry little laugh, "shall I close the window? or do you wish to hear what punishment will be

meted out to Boulogne, if on the day that the Scarlet Pimpernel is captured, Lady Blakeney happens to have

"The Committee of Public Safety," he resumed, "would look upon this city as a nest of traitors if on the day

that the Scarlet Pimpernel becomes our prisoner Lady Blakeney herself, the wife of that notorious English

spy, had already quitted Boulogne. The whole town knows by now that you are in our handsyou, the most

precious hostage we can hold for the ultimate capture of the man whom we all fear and detest. Virtually the

towncrier is at the present moment proclaiming to the inhabitants of this city: 'We want that man, but we

already have his wife, see to it, citizens, that she does not escape! for if she do, we shall summarily shoot the

"Are you devils then, all of you," she gasped, "that you should think of such things?"

"Aye! some of us are devils, no doubt," said Chauvelin drily; "but why should you honour us in this case with

so flattering an epithet? We are mere men striving to guard our property and mean no harm to the citizens of

Boulogne. We have threatened them, true! but is it not for you and that elusive Pimpernel to see that the

"Nay! I pray you, fair lady, do not deceive yourself. At present the proclamation sounds like a mere threat, I'll

allow, but let me assure you that if we fail to capture the Scarlet Pimpernel and if you on the other hand are

spirited out of this fortress by that mysterious adventurer we shall undoubtedly shoot or guillotine every

He had spoken quietly and emphatically, neither with bombast, nor with rage, and Marguerite saw in his face

nothing but a calm and ferocious determination, the determination of an entire nation embodied in this one

man, to be revenged at any cost. She would not let him see the depth of her despair, nor would she let him

read in her face the unutterable hopelessness which filled her soul. It were useless to make an appeal to him:

"I hope at last I have made the situation quite clear to your ladyship?" he was asking quite pleasantly now.

"See how easy is your position: you have but to remain quiescent in room No. 6, and if any chance of escape

be offered you ere the Scarlet Pimpernel is captured, you need but to think of all the families of Boulogne,

who would be deprived of their breadwinnerfathers and sons mostly, but there are girls too, who support

their mothers or sisters; the fish curers of Boulogne are mostly women, and there are the netmakers and the

seamstresses, all would suffer if your ladyship were no longer to be found in No. 6 room of this ancient fort,

whilst all would be included in the amnesty if the Scarlet Pimpernel fell into our hands ..."

He gave a low, satisfied chuckle which made Marguerite think of the evil spirits in hell exulting over the

"I think, Lady Blakeney," he added drily and making her an ironical bow, "that your humble servant hath

Quietly he turned on his heel and went back into the room, Marguerite remaining motionless beside the open

window, where the soft, brine laden air, the distant murmur of the sea, the occasional cry of a seamew, all

The voice of the towncrier came nearer and nearer now: she could hear the words he spoke quite distinctly:

something about "amnesty" and pardon, the reward for the capture of the Scarlet Pimpernel, the lives of men,

Oh! she knew what all that meant! that Percy would not hesitate one single instant to throw his life into the

hands of his enemies, in exchange for that of others. Others! others! always others! this sigh that had made

And how he would suffer in his heart and in his pride, because of her whom he could not even attempt to save

She wondered if he had already landed in Boulogne! Again she remembered the vision on the landing stage:

his massive figure, the glimpse she had of the loved form, in the midst of the crowd!

The moment he entered the town he would hear the proclamation read, see it posted up no doubt on every

public building, and realize that she had been foolish enough to follow him, that she was a prisoner and that

What would he do? Marguerite at the thought instinctively pressed her hands to her heart, the agony of it all

had become physically painful. She hoped that perhaps this pain meant approaching death! oh! how easy

The moon peered out from beneath the bank of clouds which had obscured her for so long; smiling, she drew

her pencilled silver lines along the edge of towers and pinnacles, the frowning Beffroi and those stony walls

The towncrier had evidently ceased to read the proclamation. One by one the windows in the public square

were lighted up from within. The citizens of Boulogne wanted to think over the strange events which had

occurred without their knowledge, yet which were apparently to have such direful or such joyous

A man to be captured! the mysterious English adventurer of whom they had all heard, but whom nobody had

seen. And a womanhis wife to be guarded until the man was safely under lock and key.

Marguerite felt as if she could almost hear them talking it over and vowing that she should not escape, and

A gentle wind stirred the old gnarled trees on the southern ramparts, a wind that sounded like the sigh of

What could Percy do now? His hands were tied, and he was inevitably destined to endure the awful agony of

Having captured him, they would not keep him long; no necessity for a trial, for detention, for formalities of

any kind. A summary execution at dawn on the public place, a roll of drums, a public holiday to mark the

joyful event, and a brave man will have ceased to live, a noble heart have stilled its beatings forever, whilst a

The night watchman had replaced the towncrier. All was quiet within the city walls: the inhabitants could

But many of the windows of the town remained lighted up, and at a little distance below her, round the corner

so that she could not see it, a small crowd must have collected in front of the gateway which led into the

courtyard of the Gayole Fort. Marguerite could hear a persistent murmur of voices, mostly angry and

threatening, and once there were loud cries of: "English spies," and "a la lanterne!"

"The citizens of Boulogne are guarding the treasures of France!" commented Chauvelin drily, as he laughed

Then she roused herself from her torpor: she did not know how long she had stood beside the open window,

but the fear seized her that that man must have seen and gloated over the agony of her mind. She straightened

her graceful figure, threw back her proud head defiantly, and quietly walked up to the table, where Chauvelin

"Is this interview over?" she asked quietly, and without the slightest tremor in her voice. "May I go now?"

He regarded her with obvious delight, for truly she was beautiful: grand in this attitude of defiant despair. The

man, who had spent the last half hour in martyrizing her, gloried over the misery which he had wrought, and

"Will you believe me, Lady Blakeney?" he added, "that there is no personal animosity in my heart towards

you or your husband? Have I not told you that I do not wish to compass his death?"

"Yet you propose to send him to the guillotine as soon as you have laid hands on him."

"I have explained to you the measures which I have taken in order to make sure that we DO lay hands on the

Scarlet Pimpernel. Once he is in our power, it will rest with him to walk to the guillotine or to embark with

Then he touched a handbell which stood on the table, and within a few seconds the door was opened and the

The interview was at an end. It had served its purpose. Marguerite knew now that she must not even think of

escape for herself, or hope for safety for the man she loved. Of Chauvelin's talk of a bargain which would

touch Percy's honour she would not even think: and she was too proud to ask anything further from him.

Chauvelin stood up and made her a deep bow, as she crossed the room and finally went out of the door. The

little company of soldiers closed in around her and she was once more led along the dark passages, back to

As soon as the door had closed behind Marguerite, there came from somewhere in the room the sound of a

The flickering light of the tallow candles had failed to penetrate into all the corners, and now from out one of

these dark depths, a certain something began to detach itself, and to move forward towards the table at which

"Has the damned aristocrat gone at last?" queried a hoarse voice, as a burly body clad in loosefitting coat

"And a cursed long time you have been with the baggage," grunted the other surlily. "Another five minutes

"An assumption of authority," commented Chauvelin quietly, "to which your position here does not entitle

Collot d'Herbois lounged lazily forward, and presently he threw his ill knit figure into the chair lately

vacated by Marguerite. His heavy, square face bore distinct traces of the fatigue endured in the past

twentyfour hours on horseback or in jolting market waggons. His temper too appeared to have suffered on

the way, and, at Chauvelin's curt and dictatorial replies, he looked as surly as a chained dog.

"You were wasting your breath over that woman," he muttered, bringing a large and grimy fist heavily down

on the table, "and your measures are not quite so sound as your fondly imagine, Citizen Chauvelin."

"They were mostly of your imagining, Citizen Collot," rejoined the other quietly, "and of your suggestion."

"I added a touch of strength and determination to your mild milkand water notions, Citizen," snarled

Collot spitefully. "I'd have knocked that intriguing woman's brains out at the very first possible opportunity,

"Quite regardless of the fact that such violent measures would completely damn all our chances of success as

far as the capture of the Scarlet Pimpernel is concerned," remarked Chauvelin drily, with a contemptuous

shrug of the shoulders. "Once his wife is dead, the Englishman will never run his head into the noose which I

"So you say, Chauvelin; and therefore I suggested to you certain measures to prevent the woman escaping

"You need have no fear, Citizen Collot," said Chauvelin curtly, "this woman will make no attempt at escape

"Threat? ... It was no empty threat, Citizen. ... Sacre tonnerre! if that woman escapes now, by all the devils in

hell I swear that I'll wield the guillotine myself and cut off the head of every ablebodied man or woman in

As he said this his face assumed such an expression of inhuman cruelty, such a desire to kill, such a savage

lust for blood, that instinctively Chauvelin shuddered and shrank away from his colleague. All through his

career there is no doubt that this man, who was of gentle birth, of gentle breeding, and who had once been

called M. le Marquis de Chauvelin, must have suffered in his susceptibilities and in his pride when in contact

with the revolutionaries with whom he had chosen to cast his lot. He could not have thrown off all his old

ideas of refinement quite so easily, as to feel happy in the presence of such men as Collot d'Herbois, or Marat

in his daymen who had become brute beats, more ferocious far than any wild animal, more scientifically

One look in Collot's distorted face was sufficient at this moment to convince Chauvelin that it were useless

for him to view the proclamation against the citizens of Boulogne merely as an idle threat, even if he had

wished to do so. That Marguerite would not, under the circumstances, attempt to escape, that Sir Percy

Blakeney himself would be forced to give up all thoughts of rescuing her, was a foregone conclusion in

Chauvelin's mind, but if this highborn English gentleman had not happened to be the selfless hero that he

was, if Marguerite Blakeney were cast in a different, a rougher mouldif, in short, the Scarlet Pimpernel in

the face of the proclamation did succeed in dragging his wife out of the clutches of the Terrorists, then it was

equally certain that Collot d'Herbois would carry out his rabid and cruel reprisals to the full. And if in the

course of the wholesale butchery of the ablebodied and wage earning inhabitants of Boulogne, the

headsman should sink worn out, then would this ferocious sucker of blood put his own hand to the guillotine,

with the same joy and lust which he had felt when he ordered one hundred and thirtyeight women of Nantes

to be stripped naked by the soldiery before they were flung helterskelter into the river.

A touch of strength and determination! Aye! Citizen Collot d'Herbois had plenty of that. Was it he, or

Carriere who at Arras commanded mothers to stand by while their children were being guillotined? And

surely it was Maignet, Collot's friend and colleague, who at Bedouin, because the Red Flag of the Republic

had been mysteriously town down over night, burnt the entire little village down to the last hovel and

And Chauvelin knew all that. Nay, more! he was himself a member of that socalled government which had

countenanced these butcheries, by giving unlimited powers to men like Collot, like Maignet and Carriere. He

was at one with them in their republican ideas and he believed in the regeneration and the purification of

France, through the medium of the guillotine, but he propounded his theories and carried out his most

bloodthirsty schemes with physically clean hands and in an immaculately cut coat.

Even now when Collot d'Herbois lounged before him, with mud bespattered legs stretched out before him,

with dubious linen at neck and wrists, and an odour of rank tobacco and stale, cheap wine pervading his

whole personality, the more fastidious man of the world, who had consorted with the dandies of London and

But it was the joint characteristic of all these men who had turned France into a vast butchery and

charnelhouse, that they all feared and hated one another, even more wholeheartedly than they hated the

aristocrats and socalled traitors whom they sent to the guillotine. Citizen Lebon is said to have dipped his

sword into the blood which flowed from the guillotine, whilst exclaiming: "Comme je l'aime ce sang coule de

traitre!" but he and Collot and Danton and Robespierre, all of them in fact would have regarded with more

At this very moment Collot d'Herbois and Chauvelin would with utmost satisfaction have denounced, one the

other, to the tender mercies of the Public Prosecutor. Collot made no secret of his hatred for Chauvelin, and

the latter disguised it but thinly under the veneer of contemptuous indifference.

"As for that dammed Englishman," added Collot now, after a slight pause, and with another savage oath, "if

'tis my good fortune to lay hands on him, I'd shoot him then and there like a mad dog, and rid France once

"And think you, Citizen Collot," rejoined Chauvelin with a shrug of the shoulders, "that France would be rid

"And has at least nineteen disciples to continue his traditions of conspiracy and intrigue. None perhaps so

ingenuous as himself, none with the same daring and good luck perhaps, but still a number of ardent fools

only too ready to follow in the footsteps of their chief. Then there's the halo of martyrdom around the

murdered hero, the enthusiasm created by his noble death ... Nay! nay, Citizen, you have not lived among

these English people, you do not understand them, or you would not talk of sending their popular hero to an

But Collot d'Herbois only shook his powerful frame like some big, sulky dog, and spat upon the floor to

express his contempt of this wild talk which seemed to have no real tangible purpose.

"You have not caught your Scarlet Pimpernel yet, Citizen," he said with a snort.

"I have ordered the Angelus to be rung at one of the closed churches, and he agreed to fight a duel with me on

"You imagine that with his wife as hostage in our hands, and the whole city of Boulogne on the lookout for

him for the sake of the amnesty, that the man would be fool enough to walk on those ramparts at a given

"I am quite sure that if we do not lay hands on him before that given hour, that he will be on the ramparts at

"And having caught your hare," queried Collot, "how do you propose to cook him?"

"Twelve picked men will be on the ramparts ready to seize him the moment he appears."

"Only as a last resource, for the Englishman is powerful and may cause our halffamished men a good deal

"Oh! we'll kill him right enough, Citizen. I pray you have no fear. I hold a weapon ready for that meddlesome

Scarlet Pimpernel, which will be a thousand times more deadly and more effectual than a chance shot, or

Chauvelin leaned forward across the table and rested his chin in his hands; instinctively Collot too leaned

towards him, and both men peered furtively round them as if wondering if prying eyes happened to be lurking

round. It was Chauvelin's pale eyes which now gleamed with hatred and with an insatiable lust for revenge at

least as powerful as Collot's lust for blood; the unsteady light of the tallow candles threw grotesque shadows

across his brows, and his mouth was set in such rigid lines of implacable cruelty that the brutish sot beside

him gazed on him amazed, vaguely scenting here a depth of feeling which was beyond his power to

"You are mad to think such things, Citizen, and ill serve the Republic by sparing her bitterest foe."

"Spare him?spare the Scarlet Pimpernel! ..." he ejaculated. "Nay, Citizen, you need have no fear of that.

But believe me, I have schemes in my head by which the man whom we all hate will be more truly destroyed

than your guillotine could ever accomplish: schemes, whereby the hero who is now worshipped in England as

a demigod will suddenly become an object of loathing and of contempt. ... Ah! I see you understand me

now ... I wish to so cover him with ridicule that the very name of the small wayside flower will become a

term of derision and of scorn. Only then shall we be rid of these pestilential English spies, only then will the

entire League of the Scarlet Pimpernel become a thing of the past when its whilom leader, now thought akin

to a god, will have found refuge in a suicide's grave, from the withering contempt of the entire world."

Chauvelin had spoken low, hardly above a whisper, and the echo of his last words died away in the great,

squalid room like a longdrawnout sigh. There was dead silence for a while save for the murmur in the

wind outside and from the floor above the measured tread of the sentinel guarding the precious hostage in No.

Both men were staring straight in front of them. Collot d'Herbois incredulous, halfcontemptuous, did not

altogether approve of these schemes which seemed to him wild and uncanny: he like the direct simplicity of a

summary trial, of the guillotine, or of his own well stage managed "Noyades." He did not feel that any

ridicule or dishonour would necessarily paralyze a man in his efforts at intrigue, and would have liked to set

Chauvelin's authority aside, to behead the woman upstairs and then to take his chances of capturing the man

But the orders of the Committee of Public Safety had been peremptory: he was to be Chauvelin's helpnot

his master, and to obey in all things. He did not dare to take any initiative in the matter, for in that case, if he

He was fairly satisfied now that Chauvelin had accepted his suggestion of summarily sending to the guillotine

one member of every family resident in Boulogne, if Marguerite succeeded in effecting an escape, and, of a

truth, Chauvelin had hailed the fiendish suggestion with delight. The old abbe with his nephew and niece

were undoubtedly not sufficient deterrents against the daring schemes of the Scarlet Pimpernel, who, as a

matter of fact, could spirit them out of Boulogne just as easily as he would his own wife.

Collot's plan tied Marguerite to her own prison cell more completely than any other measure could have

done, more so indeed than the originator thereof knew or believed. ... A man like this d'Herbois born in the

gutter, imbued with every brutish tradition, which generations of jail birds had bequeathed to him,would

not perhaps fully realize the fact that neither Sir Percy nor Marguerite Blakeney would ever save themselves

at the expense of others. He had merely made the suggestion, because he felt that Chauvelin's plans were

complicated and obscure, and above all insufficient, and that perhaps after all the English adventurer and his

wife would succeed in once more outwitting him, when there would remain the grand and bloody

But Chauvelin was quite satisfied. He knew that under present circumstances neither Sir Percy nor

Marguerite would make any attempt to escape. The exambassador had lived in England: he understood the

class to which these two belonged, and was quite convinced that no attempt would be made on either side to

get Lady Blakeney away whilst the present ferocious order against the breadwinner of every family in the

Aye! the measures were sound enough. Chauvelin was easy in his mind about that. In another twentyfour

hours he would hold the man completely in his power who had so boldly outwitted him last year; to night he

"We'll go to bed now, Citizen," he said to Collot, who, tired and sulky, was moodily fingering the papers on

the table. The scraping sound which he made thereby grated on Chauvelin's overstrung nerves. He wanted to

To his satisfaction, Collot grunted a surly assent. Very leisurely he rose from his chair, stretched out his loose

limbs, shook himself like a shaggy cur, and without uttering another word he gave his colleague a curt nod,

Chauvelin heaved a deep sigh of satisfaction when Collot d'Herbois finally left him to himself. He listened

for awhile until the heavy footsteps died away in the distance, then leaning back in his chair, he gave himself

Marguerite in his power. Sir Percy Blakeney compelled to treat for her rescue if he did not wish to see her die

"Aye! my elusive hero," he muttered to himself, "methinks that we shall be able to cry quits at last."

Outside everything had become still. Even the wind in the trees out there on the ramparts had ceased their

melancholy moaning. The man was alone with his thoughts. He felt secure and at peace, sure of victory,

content to await the events of the next twentyfour hours. The other side of the door the guard which he had

picked out from amongst the more feeble and illfed garrison of the little city for attendance on his own

"Dishonour and ridicule! Derision and scorn!" he murmured, gloating over the very sound of these words,

which expressed all that he hoped to accomplish, "utter abjections, then perhaps a suicide's grave ..."

He loved the silence around him, for he could murmur these words and hear them echoing against the bare

stone walls like the whisperings of all the spirits of hate which were waiting to lend him their aid.

How long he had remained thus absorbed in his meditations, he could not afterwards have said; a minute or

two perhaps at most, whilst he leaned back in his chair with eyes closed, savouring the sweets of his own

thoughts, when suddenly the silence was interrupted by a loud and pleasant laugh and a drawly voice

"The lud live you, Monsieur Chaubertin, and pray how do you propose to accomplish all these pleasant

In a moment Chauvelin was on his feet and with eyes dilated, lips parted in awed bewilderment, he was

gazing towards the open window, where astride upon the sill, one leg inside the room, the other out, and with

the moon shining full on his suit of delicatecoloured cloth, his wide caped coat and elegant chapeaubras,

"I heard you muttering such pleasant words, Monsieur," continued Blakeney calmly, "that the temptation

seized me to join in the conversation. A man talking to himself is ever in a sorry plight ... he is either a mad

"Far be if from me, sir, to apply either epithet to you ... demmed bad form calling another fellow names ...

just when he does not quite feel himself, eh? ... You don't feel quite yourself, I fancy just now ... eh, Monsieur

He sat there quite comfortably, one slender hand resting on the gracefullyfashioned hilt of his swordthe

sword of Lorenzo Cenci, the other holding up the goldrimed eyeglass through which he was regarding his

avowed enemy; he was dressed as for a ball, and his perpetually amiable smile lurked round the corners of his

Chauvelin had undoubtedly for the moment lost his presence of mind. He did not even think of calling to his

picked guard, so completely taken aback was he by this unforeseen move on the part of Sir Percy. Yet,

obviously, he should have been ready for this eventuality. Had he not caused the towncrier to loudly

proclaim throughout the city that if ONE female prisoner escaped from Fort Gayole the entire ablebodied

The moment Sir Percy entered the gates of the town, he could not help but hear the proclamation, and hear at

the same time that this one female prisoner who was so precious a charge, was the wife of the English spy:

Moreover, was it not a fact that whenever or wherever the Scarlet Pimpernel was least expected there and

then would he surely appear? Having once realized that it was his wife who was incarcerated in Fort Gayole,

was it not natural that he would go and prowl around the prison, and along the avenue on the summit of the

southern ramparts, which was accessible to every passerby? No doubt he had lain in hiding among the trees,

Aye! it was all so natural, so simple! Strange that it should have been so unexpected!

Furious at himself for his momentary stupor, he now made a vigorous effort to face his impudent enemy with

He walked quietly towards the window, compelling his nerves to perfect calm and his mood to indifference.

The situation had ceased to astonish him; already his keen mind had seen its possibilities, its grimness and its

Sir Percy now was dusting the sleeve of his coat with a laceedged handkerchief, but just as Chauvelin was

about to come near him, he stretched out one leg, turning the point of a dainty boot towards the ex

"Would you like to take hold of me by the leg, Monsieur Chaubertin?" he said gaily. "'Tis more effectual than

a shoulder, and your picked guard of six stalwart fellows can have the other leg. ... Nay! I pray you, sir, do

not look at me like that. ... I vow that it is myself and not my ghost. ... But if you still doubt me, I pray you

"Nay, Sir Percy," said Chauvelin, with a steady voice, "I have no thought that you will take flight just yet. ...

Methinks you desire conversation with me, or you had not paid me so unexpected a visit."

"Nay, sir, the air is too oppressive for lengthy conversation ... I was strolling along these ramparts, thinking of

our pleasant encounter at the hour of the Angelus tomorrow ... when this light attracted me. ... feared I had

"As to your way to the nearest prison cell, Sir Percy?" queried Chauvelin drily.

"As to anywhere, where I could sit more comfortably than on this demmed sill. ... It must be very dusty, and I

"I presume, Sir Percy, that you did my colleague and myself the honour of listening to our conversation?"

"An you desired to talk secrets, Monsieur ... er ... Chaubertin ... you should have shut this window ... and

"I had also been having conversation with Lady Blakeney. ... Pray did you hear any of that, sir?"

But Sir Percy had evidently not heard the question, for he seemed quite absorbed in the task of removing a

"These hats are all the rage in England just now," he said airily, "but they have had their day, do you not

think so, Monsieur? When I return to town, I shall have to devote my whole mind to the invention of a new

"When will you return to England, Sir Percy?" queried Chauvelin with goodnatured sarcasm.

"If you return to England tomorrow, Sir Percy, Lady Blakeney, I fear me, cannot accompany you."

"You astonish me, sir," rejoined Blakeney with an exclamation of genuine and unaffected surprise. "I wonder

"All those whose death would be the result of her flight, if she succeeded in escaping from Boulogne ..."

But Sir Percy was staring at him, with wide open eyes expressive of utmost amazement.

"You have not heard of the measures which I have taken to prevent Lady Blakeney quitting this city without

"No, Monsieur Chaubertin ... no ... I have heard nothing ..." rejoined Sir Percy blandly. "I lead a very retired

"Sir Percy, are you aware of the fact that unless you listen to what I have to say, your wife will be dragged

before the Committee of Public Safety in Paris within the next twentyfour hours?" said Chauvelin firmly.

"What swift horses you must have, sir," quoth Blakeney pleasantly. "Lud! to think of it! ... I always heard that

But Chauvelin now would not allow himself to be ruffled by Sir Percy's apparent indifference. Keen reader of

emotions as he was, he had not failed to note a distinct change in the drawly voice, a sound of something hard

and trenchant in the flippant laugh, ever since Marguerite's name was first mentioned. Blakeney's attitude was

apparently as careless, as audacious as before, but Chauvelin's keen eyes had not missed the almost

imperceptible tightening of the jaw and the rapid clenching of one hand on the sword hilt even whilst the

Sir Percy's head was well thrown back, and the pale rays of the moon caught the edge of the clearcut profile,

the low massive brow, the drooping lids through which the audacious plotter was lazily regarding the man

who held not only his own life, but that of the woman who was infinitely dear to him, in the hollow of his

"I am afraid, Sir Percy," continued Chauvelin drily, "that you are under the impression that bolts and bars will

yield to your usual good luck, now that so precious a life is at stake as that of Lady Blakeney."

"I told her just now that if she quitted Boulogne ere the Scarlet Pimpernel is in our hands, we should

"A pleasant conceit, Monsieur ... and one that does infinite credit to your inventive faculties."

"Lady Blakeney, therefore, we hold safely enough," continued Chauvelin, who no longer heeded the mocking

"You have but to ring a bell, to raise a voice, and he too will be under lock and key within the next two

minutes, eh? ... Passons, Monsieur ... you are dying to say something further ... I pray you proceed ... your

"Indeed? ... Monsieur, you are full of surprises ... like a pretty woman. ... And pray what are the terms of this

"Oh yours, Monsieur ... yours, I pray you. ... Have I not said that you are like a pretty woman? ... Place aux

"My share of the bargain, sir, is simple enough: Lady Blakeney, escorted by yourself and any of your friends

who might be in this city at the time, shall leave Boulogne harbour at sunset tomorrow, free and

"I don't yet know what my share in this interesting bargain is to be, sir ... but for the sake of argument let us

"Then, Sir Percy ... putting aside for the moment the question of the Scarlet Pimpernel altogether ... then,

Lady Blakeney will be taken to Paris, and will be incarcerated in the prison of the Temple lately vacated by

Marie Antoinettethere she will be treated in exactly the same was as the exqueen is now being treated in

the Conciergerie. ... Do you know what that means, Sir Percy? ... It does not mean a summary trial and a

speedy death, with the halo and glory of martyrdom thrown in ... it means days, weeks, nay, months, perhaps,

of misery and humiliation ... it means, that like Marie Antoinette, she will never be allowed solitude for one

single instant of the day or night ... it means the constant proximity of soldiers, drunk with cruelty and with

"You hound! ... you dog! ... you cur! ... do you not see that I must strangle you for this! ..."

The attack had been so sudden and so violent that Chauvelin had not the time to utter the slightest call for

help. But a second ago, Sir Percy Blakeney had been sitting on the windowsill, outwardly listening with

perfect calm to what his enemy had to say; now he was at the latter's throat, pressing with long and slender

hands the breath out of the Frenchman's body, his usually placid face distorted into a mask of hate.

"You cur! ... you cur! ..." he repeated, "am I to kill you or will you unsay those words?"

Then suddenly he relaxed his grip. The habits of a lifetime would not be gainsaid even now. A second ago his

face had been livid with rage and hate, now a quick flush overspread it, as if he were ashamed of this loss of

selfcontrol. He threw the little Frenchman away from him like he would a beast which had snarled, and

Chauvelin was not slow in recovering himself. He was plucky and alert, and his hatred for this man was so

great that he had actually ceased to fear him. Now he quietly readjusted his cravat, made a vigorous effort to

reconquer his breath, and said firmly as soon as he could contrive to speak at all:

"And if you did strangle me, Sir Percy, you would do yourself no good. The fate which I have mapped out for

Lady Blakeney, would then irrevocably be hers, for she is in our power and none of my colleagues are

Blakeney was now standing in the middle of the room, with his hands buried in the pockets of his breeches,

his manner and attitude once more calm, debonnair, expressive of lofty selfpossession and of absolute

indifference. He came quite close to the meagre little figure of his exultant enemy, thereby forcing the latter

"Oh! ... ah! ... yes!" he said airily, "I had nigh forgotten ... you were talking of a bargain ... my share of it ...

eh? ... Is it me you want? ... Do you wish to see me in your Paris prisons? ... I assure you, sir, that the

propinquity of drunken soldiers may disgust me, but it would in no way disturb the equanimity of my

"I am quite sure of that, Sir Percyand I can but repeat what I had the honour of saying to Lady Blakeney

"Strange, Monsieur," retorted Blakeney, with a return of his accustomed flippancy. "Now I do desire your

death very strongly indeedthere would be so much less vermin on the face of the earth. ... But pardon

Chauvelin had not winced at the insult. His enemy's attitude now left him completely indifferent. He had seen

that selfpossessed man of the world, that dainty and fastidious dandy, in the throes of an overmastering

passion. He had very nearly paid with his life for the joy of having roused that supercilious and dormant lion.

In fact he was ready to welcome any insults from Sir Percy Blakeney now, since these would be only

"I will try to be brief, Sir Percy," he said, setting himself the task of imitating his antagonist's affected

manner. "Will you not sit down? ... We must try and discuss these matters like two men of the world. ... As

for me, I am always happiest beside a board littered with papers. ... I am not an athlete, Sir Percy ... and serve

Whilst he spoke he had reached the table and once more took the chair whereon he had been sitting lately,

when he dreamed the dreams which were so near realization now. He pointed with a graceful gesture to the

"Ah!" said Chauvelin with a sigh of satisfaction, "I see that we are about to understand one another. ... I have

always felt it was a pity, Sir Percy, that you and I could not discuss certain matters pleasantly with one

another. ... Now, about this unfortunate incident of Lady Blakeney's incarceration, I would like you to believe

that I had no part in the arrangements which have been made for her detention in Paris. My colleagues have

arranged it all ... and I have vainly tried to protest against the rigorous measures which are to be enforced

against her in the Temple prison. ... But these are answering so completely in the case of the ex queen, they

have so completely broken her spirit and her pride, that my colleagues felt that they would prove equally

useful in order to bring the Scarlet Pimpernelthrough his wifeto an humbler frame of mind."

He paused a moment, distinctly pleased with his peroration, satisfied that his voice had been without a tremor

and his face impassive, and wondering what effect this somewhat lengthy preamble had upon Sir Percy, who

through it all had remained singularly quiet. Chauvelin was preparing himself for the next effect which he

hoped to produce, and was vaguely seeking for the best words with which to fully express his meaning, when

It was the sound of a loud and prolonged snore. He pushed the candle aside, which somewhat obstructed his

line of vision, and casting a rapid glance at the enemy, with whose life he was toying even as a cat doth with

that of a mouse, he saw that the aforesaid mouse was calmly and unmistakably asleep.

An impatient oath escaped Chauvelin's lips, and he brought his fist heavily down on the table, making the

"A thousand pardons, sir," said Blakeney with a slight yawn. "I am so demmed fatigued, and your preface

was unduly long. ... Beastly bad form, I know, going to sleep during a sermon ... but I haven't had a wink of

"Will you condescend to listen, Sir Percy?" queried Chauvelin peremptorily, "or shall I call the guard and

And once more stretching out his long limbs, he buried his hands in the pockets of his breeches and

apparently prepared himself for another quiet sleep. Chauvelin looked at him for a moment, vaguely

wondering what to do next. He felt strangely irritated at what he firmly believed was mere affectation on

Blakeney's part, and although he was burning with impatience to place the terms of the proposed bargain

before this man, yet he would have preferred to be interrogated, to deliver his "eitheror" with becoming

sternness and decision, rather than to take the initiative in this discussion, where he should have been calm

Sir Percy's attitude had disconcerted him, a touch of the grotesque had been given to what should have been a

tense moment, and it was terribly galling to the pride of the exdiplomatist that with this elusive enemy and

in spite of his own preparedness for any eventuality, it was invariably the unforeseen that happened.

After a moment's reflection, however, he decided upon a fresh course of action. He rose and crossed the

room, keeping as much as possible an eye upon Sir Percy, but the latter sat placid and dormant and evidently

in no hurry to move. Chauvelin having reached the door, opened it noiselessly, and to the sergeant in

command of his bodyguard who stood at attention outside, he whispered hurriedly:

"The prisoner from No. 6. ... Let two of the men bring her hither back to me at once."

Less than three minutes later, there came to Chauvelin's expectant ears the soft sound made by a woman's

skirts against the stone floor. During those three minutes, which had seemed an eternity to his impatience, he

Directly he heard the word: "Halt!" outside the door, he jumped to his feet. The next moment Marguerite had

Hardly had her foot crossed the threshold than Sir Percy rose, quietly and without haste but evidently fully

She, poor woman, had of course caught sight of him at once. His presence here, Chauvelin's demand for her

reappearance, the soldiers in a small compact group outside the door, all these were unmistakable proofs that

The Scarlet Pimpernel, Percy Blakeney, her husband, was in the hands of the Terrorists of France, and though

face to face with her now, with an open window close to him, and an apparently helpless enemy under his

hand, he could notowing to the fiendish measures taken by Chauvelin raise a finger to save himself and

Mercifully for her, naturein the face of this appalling tragedy deprived her of the full measure of her

senses. She could move and speak and see, she could hear and in a measure understand what was said, but

she was really an automaton or a sleepwalker, moving and speaking mechanically and without due

Possibly, if she had then and there fully realized all that the future meant, she would have gone mad with the

"Lady Blakeney," began Chauvelin after he had quickly dismissed the soldiers from the room, "when you and

I parted from one another just now, I had no idea that I should so soon have the pleasure of a personal

conversation with Sir Percy. ... There is no occasion yet, believe me, for sorrow or fear. ... Another

twentyfour hours at most, and you will be on board the 'DayDream' outward bound for England. Sir Percy

himself might perhaps accompany you; he does not desire that you should journey to Paris, and I may safely

say, that in his mind, he has already accepted certain little conditions which I have been forced to impose

"Conditions?" she repeated vaguely and stupidly, looking in bewilderment from one to the other.

He held the chair gallantly for her. She tried to read his face, but could not catch even a flash from beneath

"Oh! it is a mere matter of exchanging signatures," continued Chauvelin in response to her inquiring glance

and toying with the papers which were scattered on the table. "Here you see is the order to allow Sir Percy

Blakeney and his wife, nee Marguerite St. Just, to quit the town of Boulogne unmolested."

He held a paper out towards Marguerite, inviting her to look at it. She caught sight of an officiallooking

document, bearing the motto and seal of the Republic of France, and of her own name and Percy's written

"It is perfectly en regle, I assure you," continued Chauvelin, "and only awaits my signature."

He now took up another paper which looked like a long closelywritten letter. Marguerite watched his every

movement, for instinct told her that the supreme moment had come. There was a look of almost superhuman

cruelty and malice in the little Frenchman's eyes as he fixed them on the impassive figure of Sir Percy, the

while with slightly trembling hands he fingered that piece of paper and smoothed out its creases with loving

"I am quite prepared to sign the order for your release, Lady Blakeney," he said, keeping his gaze still keenly

fixed upon Sir Percy. "When it is signed you will understand that our measures against the citizens of

Boulogne will no longer hold good, and that on the contrary, the general amnesty and free pardon will come

"And all that will come to pass, Lady Blakeney, the moment Sir Percy will write me in his own hand a letter,

"You will see how simple it all is. ... A mere matter of form. ... I pray you do not look upon it with terror, but

only as the prelude to that general amnesty and free pardon, which I feel sure will satisfy the philanthropic

heart of the noble Scarlet Pimpernel, since three score at least of the inhabitants of Boulogne will owe their

"As I have already had the honour of explaining, this little document is in the form of a letter addressed

personally to me and of course in French," he said finally, and then he looked down on the paper and began

In consideration of a further sum of one million francs and on the understanding that this ridiculous charge

brought against me of conspiring against the Republic of France is immediately withdrawn, and I am allowed

to return to England unmolested, I am quite prepared to acquaint you with the names and whereabouts of

certain persons who under the guise of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel are even now conspiring to free

the woman Marie Antoinette and her son from prison and to place the latter upon the throne of France. You

are quite well aware that under the pretence of being the leader of a gang of English adventurers, who never

did the Republic of France and her people any real harm, I have actually been the means of unmasking many

a royalist plot before you, and of bringing many persistent conspirators to the guillotine. I am surprised that

you should cavil at the price I am asking this time for the very important information with which I am able to

furnish you, whilst you have often paid me similar sums for work which was a great deal less difficult to do.

In order to serve your government effectually, both in England and in France, I must have a sufficiency of

money, to enable me to live in a costly style befitting a gentleman of my rank. Were I to alter my mode of life

I could not continue to mix in that same social milieu to which all my friends belong and wherein, as you are

Trusting therefore to receive a favourable reply to my just demands within the next twentyfour hours,

When he had finished reading, Chauvelin quietly folded the paper up again, and then only did he look at the

Marguerite sat very erect, her head thrown back, her face very pale and her hands tightly clutched in her lap.

She had not stirred whilst Chauvelin read out the infamous document, with which he desired to brand a brave

man with the ineradicable stigma of dishonour and of shame. After she heard the first words, she looked up

swiftly and questioningly at her husband, but he stood at some little distance from her, right out of the

flickering circle of yellowish light made by the burning tallowcandle. He was as rigid as a statue, standing

Whatever she may have felt with regard to the letter, as the meaning of it gradually penetrated into her brain,

she was, of course, convinced of one thing, and that was that never for a moment would Percy dream of

purchasing his life or even hers at such a price. But she would have liked some sign from him, some look by

which she could be guided as to her immediate conduct: as, however, he gave neither look nor sign, she

But even before Chauvelin had had time to look from one face to the other, a prolonged and merry laugh

"A magnificent epistle, sir," he said gaily, "Lud love you, where did you wield the pen so gracefully? ... I

vow that if I signed this interesting document no one will believe I could have expressed myself with perfect

"Nay, Sir Percy," rejoined Chauvelin drily, "I have thought of all that, and lest in the future there should be

any doubt as to whether your own hand had or had not penned the whole of this letter, I also make it a

condition that you write out every word of it yourself, and sign it here in this very room, in the presence of

Lady Blakeney, of myself, of my colleagues and of at least half a dozen other persons whom I will select."

"It is indeed admirably thought out, Monsieur," rejoined Sir Percy, "and what is to become of the charming

epistle, may I ask, after I have written and signed it? ... Pardon my curiosity. ... I take a natural interest in the

"Oh! the fate of this letter will be as simple as was the writing thereof. ... A copy of it will be published in our

"Gazette de Paris" as a bait for enterprising English journalists. ... They will not be backward in getting hold

of so much interesting matter. ... Can you not see the attractive headlines in 'The London Gazette,' Sir Percy?

'The League of the Scarlet Pimpernel unmasked! A gigantic hoax! The origin of the Blakeney millions!' ... I

believe that journalism in England has reached a high standard of excellence ... and even the 'Gazette de

Paris' is greatly read in certain towns of your charming country. ... His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales,

and various other influential gentlemen in London, will, on the other hand, be granted a private view of the

original through the kind offices of certain devoted friends whom we possess in England. ... I don't think that

you need have any fear, Sir Percy, that your caligraphy will sink into oblivion. It will be our business to see

He paused a moment, then his manner suddenly changed: the sarcastic tone died out of his voice, and there

came back into his face that look of hatred and cruelty which Blakeney's persiflage had always the power to

"You may rest assured of one thing, Sir Percy," he said with a harsh laugh, "that enough mud will be thrown

at that erstwhile glorious Scarlet Pimpernel ... some of it will be bound to stick ..."

"Nay, Monsieur ... er ... Chaubertin," quoth Blakeney lightly, "I have no doubt that you and your colleagues

are past masters in the graceful art of mudthrowing. ... But pardon me ... er .... I was interrupting you. ...

Continue, Monsieur ... continue, I pray. 'Pon my honour, the matter is vastly diverting."

"Nay, sir, after the publication of this diverting epistle, meseems your honour will ceased to be a marketable

"Undoubtedly, sir," rejoined Sir Percy, apparently quite unruffled, "pardon a slip of the tongue ... we are so

"I have but little more to say, sir. ... But lest there should even now be lurking in your mind a vague hope

that, having written this letter, you could easily in the future deny its authorship, let me tell you this: my

measures are well taken, there will be witnesses to your writing of it. ... You will sit here in this room,

unfettered, uncoerced in any way, and the money spoken of in the letter will be handed over to you by my

colleague, after a few suitable words spoken by him, and you will take the money from him, Sir Percy ... and

the witnesses will see you take it after having seen you write the letter ... they will understand that you are

being PAID by the French government for giving information anent royalist plots in this country and in

England ... they will understand that your identity as the leader of that socalled band is not only known to

me and to my colleague, but that it also covers your real character and profession as the paid spy of France."

Chauvelin had paused, halfchoked by his own emotion, his hatred and prospective revenge. He passed his

"Warm work, this sort of thing ... eh ... Monsieur ... er ... Chaubertin? ..." queried his imperturbable enemy.

Marguerite said nothing; the whole thing was too horrible for words, but she kept her large eyes fixed upon

her husband's face ... waiting for that look, that sign from him which would have eased the agonizing anxiety

With a great effort now, Chauvelin pulled himself together and, though his voice still trembled, he managed

"Probably, Sir Percy, you know," he said, "that throughout the whole of France we are inaugurating a series

of national fetes, in honour of the new religion which the people are about to adopt. ... Demoiselle Desiree

Candeille, whom you know, will at these festivals impersonate the Goddess of Reason, the only deity whom

we admit now in France. ... She has been specially chosen for this honour, owing to the services which she

has rendered us recently ... and as Boulogne happens to be the lucky city in which we have succeeded in

bringing the Scarlet Pimpernel to justice, the national fete will begin within these city walls, with Demoiselle

"Aye, merry, sir," said Chauvelin with an involuntary and savage snarl, as he placed a long clawlike finger

upon the momentous paper before him, "merry, for we here in Boulogne will see that which will fill the heart

of every patriot in France with gladness. ... Nay! 'twas not the death of the Scarlet Pimpernel we wanted ...

not the noble martyrdom of England's chosen hero ... but his humiliation and defeat ... derision and scorn ...

contumely and contempt. You asked me airily just now, Sir Percy, how I proposed to accomplish this object

... Well! you know it nowby forcing you ... aye, forcingto write and sign a letter and to take money from

my hands which will brand you forever as a liar and informer, and cover you with the thick and slimy mud of

"Lud! sir," said Sir Percy pleasantly, "what a wonderful command you have of our language. ... I wish I could

Marguerite had risen like an automaton from her chair. She felt that she could no longer sit still, she wanted

to scream out at the top of her voice, all the horror she felt for this dastardly plot, which surely must have had

its origin in the brain of devils. She could not understand Percy. This was one of those awful moments, which

she had been destined to experience once or twice before, when the whole personality of her husband seemed

to become shadowy before her, to slip, as it were, past her comprehension, leaving her indescribably lonely

She thought that long ere this he would have flung back every insult in his opponent's teeth; she did not know

what inducements Chauvelin had held out in exchange for the infamous letter, what threats he had used. That

her own life and freedom were at stake, was, of course, evident, but she cared nothing for life, and he should

know that certainly she would care still less if such a price had to be paid for it.

She longed to tell him all that was in her heart, longed to tell him how little she valued her life, how highly

she prized his honour! but how could she, before this fiend who snarled and sneered in his anticipated

And knowing all that, why did he not speak? Why did he not tear that infamous paper from out that devil's

hands and fling it in his face? Yet, though her loving ear caught every intonation of her husband's voice, she

could not detect the slightest harshness in his airy laugh; his tone was perfectly natural and he seemed to be,

Then she thought that perhaps he would wish her to go now, that he felt desire to be alone with this man, who

had outraged him in everything that he held most holy and most dear, his honour and his wife ... that perhaps,

knowing that his own temper was no longer under control, he did not wish her to witness the rough and ready

Yes! that was it no doubt! Herein she could not be mistaken; she knew his fastidious notions of what was due

and proper in the presence of a woman, and that even at a moment like this, he would wish the manners of

Therefore she rose to go, and as she did so, once more tried to read the expression in his face ... to guess what

"Nay, Madam," he said, whilst he bowed gracefully before her, "I fear me this lengthy conversation hath

somewhat fatigued you. ... This merry jest 'twixt my engaging friend and myself should not have been

prolonged so far into the night. ... Monsieur, I pray you, will you not give orders that her ladyship be escorted

He was still standing outside the circle of light, and Marguerite instinctively went up to him. For this one

second she was oblivious of Chauvelin's presence, she forgot her wellschooled pride, her firm determination

to be silent and to be brave: she could not longer restrain the wild beatings of her heart, the agony of her soul,

and with sudden impulse she murmured in a voice broken with intense love and subdued, passionate appeal:

He drew back a step further into the gloom: this made her realize the mistake she had made in allowing her

husband's most bitter enemy to get this brief glimpse into her soul. Chauvelin's thin lips curled with

satisfaction, the brief glimpse had been sufficient for him, the rapidly whispered name, the broken accent had

told him what he had not known hitherto: namely, that between this man and woman there was a bond far

more powerful that that which usually existed between husband and wife, and merely made up of chivalry on

Marguerite having realized her mistake, ashamed of having betrayed her feelings even for a moment, threw

back her proud head and gave her exultant foe a look of defiance and of scorn. He responded with one of pity,

not altogether unmixed with deference. There was something almost unearthly and sublime in this beautiful

He lowered his head and made her a deep obeisance, lest she should see the satisfaction and triumph which

As usual Sir Percy remained quite imperturbable, and now it was he, who, with characteristic impudence,

"Excuse this intrusion, Monsieur," he said lightly, "her ladyship is overfatigued and would be best in her

Marguerite threw him a grateful look. After all she was only a woman and was afraid of breaking down. In

her mind there was no issue to the present deadlock save in death. For this she was prepared and had but one

great hope that she could lie in her husband's arms just once again before she died. Now, since she could not

speak to him, scarcely dared to look into the loved face, she was quite ready to go.

She nodded and Chauvelin gave the necessary orders: two soldiers stood at attention ready to escort

Marguerite back to her prison cell. As she went towards the door she came to within a couple of steps from

where her husband was standing, bowing to her as she passed. She stretched out an icy cold hand towards

him, and he, in the most approved London fashion, with the courtly grace of a perfect English gentleman,

took the little hand in his and stooping very low kissed the delicate fingertips.

Then only did she notice that the strong, nervy hand which held hers trembled perceptibly, and that his

As far as Chauvelin was concerned he felt that everything was not yet settled, and until a moment ago he had

been in doubt as to whether Sir Percy would accept the infamous conditions which had been put before him,

or allow his pride and temper to get the better of him and throw the deadly insults back into his adversary's

But now a new secret had been revealed to the astute diplomatist. A name, softly murmured by a

brokenhearted woman, had told him a tale of love and passion, which he had not even suspected before.

Since he had made this discovery he knew that the ultimate issue was no longer in doubt. Sir Percy Blakeney,

the bold adventurer, ever ready for a gamble where lives were at stake, might have demurred before he

subscribed to his own dishonour, in order to save his wife from humiliation and the shame of the terrible fate

that had been mapped out for her. But the same man passionately in love with such a woman as Marguerite

One sudden fear alone had shot through Chauvelin's heart when he stood face to face with the two people

whom he had so deeply and cruelly wronged, and that was that Blakeney, throwing aside all thought of the

scores of innocent lives that were at stake, might forget everything, risk everything, dare everything, in order

For the space of a few seconds Chauvelin had felt that his own life was in jeopardy, and that the Scarlet

Pimpernel would indeed make a desperate effort to save himself and his wife. But the fear was shortlived:

Margueriteas he had well foreseenwould never save herself at the expense of others, and she was tied!

When Marguerite finally left the room, Sir Percy made no motion to follow her, but turned once more quietly

"Oh! there is nothing more to say, Sir Percy," rejoined Chauvelin; "my conditions are clear to you, are they

not? Lady Blakeney's and your own immediate release in exchange for a letter written to me by your own

hand, and signed here by youin this room in my presence and that of sundry other persons whom I need

not name just now. Also certain money passing from my hand to yours. Failing the letter, a long, hideously

humiliating sojourn in the Temple prison for your wife, a prolonged trial and the guillotine as a happy

release! ... I would add, the same thing for yourself, only that I will do you the justice to admit that you

"Nay! a grave mistake, Monsieur. ... I do care ... vastly care, I assure you ... and would seriously object to

ending my life on your demmed guillotine ... a nasty, uncomfortable thing, I should say ... and I am told that

an inexperienced barber is deputed to cut one's hair. ... Brrr! ... Now, on the other hand, I like the idea of a

national fete ... that pretty wench Candeille, dressed as a goddess ... the boom of the cannon when your

amnesty comes into force. ... You WILL boom the cannon, will you not, Monsieur? ... Cannon are demmed

"Very effective certainly, Sir Percy," sneered Chauvelin, "and we will certainly boom the cannon from this

"The 'DayDream' could weigh anchor at eight o'clock ... would an hour before that be convenient to

"Certainly, Sir Percy ... if you will honour me by accepting my hospitality in these uncomfortable quarters

"That I accept your bargain, man! ... Zounds! I tell you I accept ... I'll write the letter, I'll sign it ... an you

have our free passes ready for us in exchange. ... At seven o'clock tomorrow eve, did you say? ... Man! do

not look so astonished. ... The letter, the signature, the money ... all your witnesses ... have everything ready.

... I accept, I say. ... And now, in the name of all the evil spirits in hell, let me have some supper and a bed,

And without more ado Sir Percy once more rang the handbell, laughing boisterously the while: then

suddenly, with quick transition of mood, his laugh was lost in a gigantic yawn, and throwing his long body

onto a chair, he stretched out his legs, buried his hands in his pockets, and the next moment was peacefully

Boulogne had gone through many phases, in its own languid and sleepy way, whilst the great upheaval of a

At first the little town had held somnolently aloof, and whilst Lyons and Tours conspired and rebelled, whilst

Marseilles and Toulon opened their ports to the English and Dunkirk was ready to surrender to the allied

forces, she had gazed through halfclosed eyes at all the turmoil, and then quietly turned over and gone to

Boulogne fished and mended nets, built boats and manufactured boots with placid content, whilst France

The initial noise of the great revolution was only wafted on the southerly breezes from Paris to the little

seaport towns of Northern France, and lost much of its volume and power in this aerial transit: the fisher folk

were too poor to worry about the dethronement of kings: the struggle for daily existence, the perils and

As for the burghers and merchants of the town, they were at first content with reading an occasional article in

the "Gazette de Paris" or the "Gazette des Tribunaux," brought hither by one or other of the many travellers

who crossed the city on their way to the harbour. They were interested in these articles, at times even

comfortably horrified at the doings in Paris, the executions and the tumbrils, but on the whole they liked the

idea that the country was in future to be governed by duly chosen representatives of the people, rather than be

a prey to the despotism of kings, and they were really quite pleased to see the tricolour flag hoisted on the old

Beffroi, there where the snowwhite standard of the Bourbons had erstwhile flaunted its golden fleurdelis

The worthy burgesses of Boulogne were ready to shout: "Vive la Republique!" with the same cheerful and

The first awakening from this happy torpor came when that tent was put up on the landing stage in the

harbour. Officials, dressed in shabby uniforms and wearing tricolour cockades and scarves, were now

quartered in Town Hall, and repaired daily to that roughly erected tent, accompanied by so many soldiers

There installed, they busied themselves with examining carefully the passports of all those who desired to

leave or enter Boulogne. Fisherfolk who had dwelt in the cityfather and son and grandfather and many

generations before thatand had come and gone in and out of their own boats as they pleased, were now

stopped as they beached their craft and made to give an account of themselves to these officials from Paris.

It was, of a truth, more than ridiculous, that these strangers should ask of JeanMarie who he was, or of

Pierre what was his business, or of Desire Francois whither he was going, when JeanMarie and Pierre and

Desire Francois had plied their nets in the roads outside Boulogne harbour for more years than they would

It also caused no small measure of annoyance that fishermen were ordered to wear tricolour cockades on their

caps. They had no special ill feeling against tricolour cockades, but they did not care about them.

JeanMarie flatly refused to have one pinned on, and being admonished somewhat severely by one of the

Paris officials, he became obstinate about the whole thing and threw the cockade violently on the ground and

spat upon it, not from any sentiment of antirepublicanism, but just from a feeling of Norman doggedness.

He was arrested, shut up in Fort Gayole, tried as a traitor and publicly guillotined.

The one little spark had found its way to a barrel of blasting powder and caused a terrible explosion. Within

twentyfour hours of JeanMarie's execution the whole town was in the throes of the Revolution. What the

death of King Louis, the arrest of Marie Antoinette, the massacres of September had failed to do, that the

People began to take sides in politics. Some families realized that they came from ancient lineage, and that

their ancestors had helped to build up the throne of the Bourbons. Others looked up ancient archives and

Thus some burghers of Boulogne became ardent reactionaries, whilst others secretly nursed enthusiastic

royalist convictions: some were ready to throw in their lot with the anarchists, to deny the religion of their

fathers, to scorn the priests and close the places of worship; others adhered strictly still to the usages and

Arrest became frequent: the guillotine, erected in the Place de la Senechaussee, had plenty of work to do.

Soon the cathedral was closed, the priests thrown into prison, whilst scores of families hoped to escape a

Vague rumours of a band of English adventurers soon reached the little seaport town. The Scarlet

PimpernelEnglish spy or hero, as he was alternately calledhad helped many a family with pronounced

Thus gradually the antirevolutionaries had been weeded out of the city: some by death and imprisonment,

others by flight. Boulogne became the hotbed of anarchism: the idlers and loafers, inseparable from any town

where there is a garrison and a harbour, practically ruled the city now. Denunciations were the order of the

day. Everyone who owned any money, or lived with any comfort was accused of being a traitor and

suspected of conspiracy. The fisher folk wandered about the city, surly and discontented: their trade was at a

standstill, but there was a trifle to be earned by giving information: information which meant the arrest,

ofttimes the death of men, women and even children who had tried to seek safety in flight, and to denounce

whomas they were trying to hire a boat anywhere along the coastmeant a good square meal for a

A womana strangerhad been arrested and imprisoned in the Fort Gayole and the towncrier publicly

proclaimed that if she escaped from jail, one member of every family in the townrich or poor, republican

"Why, then, with the Duvals it would be young FrancoisAuguste. He keeps his old mother with his

"And it would be Marie Lebon, she has her blind father dependent on her netmending."

"And old Mother Laferriere, whose grandchildren were left penniless ... she keeps them from starvation by

"Is there no safety anywhere? ... are we to be butchered like so many cattle? ..."

'Tis old Andre Lemoine who has spoken, and he spits vigorously on the ground. Andre Lemoine has been a

"Would not dare? ..." he says in a whisper. "I tell you, friends, that there's nothing the present government

would not dare. There was the Plaine Saint Mauve ... Did you ever hear about that? ... little children

fusilladed by the score ... little ones, I say, and women with babies at their breasts ... weren't they innocent? ...

Five hundred innocent people butchered in La Vendee ... until the Headsman sankworn not ... I could tell

Angry, sullen crowds assembled in the streets. The proclamation had been read just as the men were leaving

They brought the news to the women, who, at home, were setting the soup and bread on the table for their

husbands' supper. There was no thought of going to bed or of sleeping that night. The breadwinner in every

family and all those dependent on him for daily sustenance were trembling for their lives.

Resistance to the barbarous order would have been worse than useless, nor did the thought of it enter the

heads of these humble and ignorant fisher folk, wearied out with the miserable struggle for existence. There

was not sufficient spirit left in this halfstarved population of a small provincial city to suggest open

rebellion. A regiment of soldiers come up from the South were quartered in the Chateau, and the natives of

Boulogne could not have mustered more than a score of disused blunderbusses between them.

Then they remembered tales which Andre Lemoine had told, the fate of Lyons, razed to the ground, of

But brothers, fathers, sons trooped out towards Gayole, in order to have a good look at the frowning pile,

which held the hostage for their safety. It looked dark and gloomy enough, save for one window which gave

on the southern ramparts. This window was wide open and a feeble light flickered from the room beyond, and

as the men stood about, gazing at the walls in sulky silence, they suddenly caught the sound of a loud laugh

proceeding from within, and of a pleasant voice speaking quite gaily in a language which they did not

Against the heavy oaken gateway, leading to the courtyard of the prison, the proclamation written on stout

parchment had been pinned up. Beside it hung a tiny lantern, the dim light of which flickered in the evening

breeze, and brought at times into sudden relief the bold writing and heavy signature, which stood out, stern

and grim, against the yellowish background of the paper, like black signs of approaching death.

Facing the gateway and the proclamation, the crowd of men took its stand. The moon, from behind them, cast

fitful, silvery glances at the weary heads bent in anxiety and watchful expectancy: on old heads and young

heads, dark, curly heads and heads grizzled with age, on backs bent with toil, and hands rough and gnarled

Sentinels from the town guard were stationed at the gates, but these might prove inattentive or insufficient,

they had not the same price at stake, so the entire ablebodied population of Boulogne watched the gloomy

They were guarding the precious hostage whose safety was the stipulation for their own.

There was dead silence among them, and dead silence all around, save for that monotonous toktoktok of

the parchment flapping in the breeze. The moon, who all along had been capricious and chary of her light,

made a final retreat behind a gathering bank of clouds, and the crowd, the soldiers and the great grim walls

Only the little lantern on the gateway now made a ruddy patch of light, and tinged that fluttering parchment

with the colour of blood. Every now and then an isolated figure would detach itself from out the watching

throng, and go up to the heavy, oaken door, in order to gaze at the proclamation. Then the light of the lantern

illumined a dark head or a grey one, for a moment or two: black or white locks were stirred gently in the

At times a group of three or four would stand there for awhile, not speaking, only sighing and casting eager

questioning glances at one another, whilst trying vainly to find some hopeful word, some turn of phrase of

meaning that would be less direful, in that grim and ferocious proclamation. Then a rough word from the

sentinel, a push from the butt end of a bayonet would disperse the little group and send the men, sullen and

Thus they watched for hours whilst the bell of the Beffroi tolled all the hours of that tedious night. A thin rain

began to fall in the small hours of the morning, a wetting, soaking drizzle which chilled the weary watchers to

Some of them squatted down in the muddy road, the luckier ones managed to lean their backs against the

Twice before the hour of midnight they heard that same quaint and merry laugh proceeding from the lighted

room, through the open window. Once it sounded very low and very prolonged, as if in response to a

Anon the heavy gateway of Gayole was opened from within, and half a dozen soldiers came walking out of

the courtyard. They were dressed in the uniform of the townguard, but had evidently been picked out of the

rank and file, for all six were exceptionally tall and stalwart, and towered above the sentinel, who saluted and

In the midst of them walked a slight, dark figure, clad entirely in black, save for the tricolour scarf round his

The crowd of watchers gazed on the little party with suddenly awakened interest.

"No! no!" quoth Pierre Maxime, the doyen of Boulogne fishermen, and a great authority on every matter

public or private with the town; "no, no he is the man who has come down from Paris, the friend of

Robespierre. He makes the laws now, the citizengovernor even must obey him. 'Tis he who made the law

"Hush, Pierre Maxine! ... the Citizen might hear thee," whispered the man who stood closest to the old

"What are these people doing here?' queried Chauvelin as he passed out into the street.

"They are watching the prison, Citizen," replied the sentinel, whom he had thus addressed, "lest the female

With a satisfied smile, Chauvelin turned toward the Town Hall, closely surrounded by his escort. The crowd

watched him and the soldiers as they quickly disappeared in the gloom, then they resumed the stolid,

The old Beffroi now tolled the midnight hour, the one solitary light in the old Fort was extinguished, and

They had not slept, only some of them had fallen into drowsy somnolence, heavy and nerveracking, worse

Within the houses, the women too had kept the tedious vigil, listening for every sound, dreading every bit of

If one prisoner escaped, every family in Boulogne would be deprived of the breadwinner. Therefore the

women wept, and tried to remember those Paters and Aves which the tyranny of liberty, fraternity and

Broken rosaries were fetched out from neglected corners, and knees stiff with endless, thankless toil were

Some of the women went out in the early dawn to take hot soup and coffee to their men who were watching

Questions and surmises went round in muffled whispers as the steaming cans were passed round. No one had

a definite answer to give, although Desire Melun declared that he had, once during the night, caught sight of a

woman's face at one of the windows above: but as he could not describe the woman's face, nor locate with

any degree of precision the particular window at which she was supposed to have appeared, it was

The cry came first from the Town Hall, and therefore from behind the crowd of men and women, whose faces

They were all awake! but too tired and cramped to move as yet, and to turn in the direction whence arose that

It was just the voice of Auguste Moleux, the towncrier of Boulogne, who, bell in hand, was trudging his

way along the Rue Daumont, closely followed by two fellows of the municipal guard.

Auguste was in the very midst of the sullen crowd, before the men even troubled about his presence here, but

now with many a vigorous "Allons donc!" and "Voyezmoi ca, fais donc place, voyons!" he elbowed his way

He was neither tired nor cramped; he served the Republic in comfort and ease, and had slept soundly on his

The crowd parted in silence, to allow him to pass. Auguste was lean and powerful, the scanty and meagre

food, doled out to him by a paternal government, had increased his muscular strength whilst reducing his fat.

He had very hard elbows, and soon he managed, by dint of pushing and cursing to reach the gateway of

"Voyons! enlevezmoi ca," he commanded in stentorian tones, pointing to the proclamation.

The fellows of the municipal guard fell to and tore the parchment away from the door whilst the crowd

"Mes enfants," he said, "my little cabbages! wake up! the government of the Republic has decreed that

"Gaiety? ... Public rejoicings forsooth, when the breadwinner of every family ..."

"Hush! Hush! Be silent, all of you," quoth Auguste impatiently, "you do not understand! ... All that is at an

end ... There is no fear that the woman shall escape. ... You are all to dance and rejoice. ... The Scarlet

"Mais! 'tis that mysterious English adventurer who rescued people from the guillotine!"

"No! no! only an English spy, a friend of aristocrats ... he would have cared nothing for the breadwinners of

"Who knows?" sighed a feminine voice, "perhaps he came to Boulogne to help them."

"And he has been caught anyway," concluded Auguste Moleux sententiously, "and, my little cabbages,

remember this, that so great is the pleasure of the allpowerful Committee of Public Safety at this capture,

that because he has been caught in Boulogne, therefore Boulogne is to be specially rewarded!"

It is a difficult matter for the human mind to turn very quickly from despair to hope, and the fisherman of

Boulogne had not yet grasped the fact that they were to make merry and that thoughts of anxiety must be

Auguste Moleux took out a parchment from the capacious pocket of his coat; he put on his most solemn air of

"A general amnesty to all natives of Boulogne who are under arrest at the present moment: a free pardon to

all natives of Boulogne who are under sentence of death: permission to all natives of Boulogne to quit the

town with their families, to embark on any vessel they please, in or out of the harbour, and to go

whithersoever they choose, without passports, formalities or question of any kind."

Dead silence followed this announcement. Hope was just beginning to crowd anxiety and sullenness out of

"Then poor Andre Legrand will be pardoned," whispered a voice suddenly; "he was to have been guillotined

"Thinkest thou it would be safer for us to get out of the country whilst we can?" said one of the men in a

Others talked in whispers of England or the New Land across the seas: they were those who had something to

hide, money received from refugee aristocrats, boats sold to wouldbe emigres, information withheld,

denunciations shirked: the amnesty would not last long, 'twas best to be safely out of the way.

"In the meanwhile, my cabbages," quoth Auguste sententiously, "are you not grateful to Citizen Robespierre,

Out there, far away, beyond the harbour, the grey light of dawn was yielding to the crimson glow of morning.

The rain had ceased and heavy slaty clouds parted here and there, displaying glints of delicate turquoise sky,

and tiny ethereal vapours in the dim and remote distance of infinity, flecked with touches of rose and gold.

The towers and pinnacles of old Boulogne detached themselves one by one from the misty gloom of night.

The old bell of the Beffroi tolled the hour of six. Soon the massive cupola of Notre Dame was clothed in

purple hues, and the gilt cross on St. Joseph threw back across the square a blinding ray of gold.

The town sparrows began to twitter, and from far out at sea in the direction of Dunkirk there came the

"And remember, my pigeons," admonished Auguste Moleux solemnly, "that in this order which Robespierre

has sent from Paris, it also says that from today onwards le bon Dieu has ceased to be!"

Many faces were turned towards the East just then, for the rising sun, tearing with one gigantic sweep the

banks of cloud asunder, now displayed his magnificence in a gorgeous immensity of flaming crimson. The

sea, in response, turned to liquid fire beneath the glow, whilst the whole sky was irradiated with the first

"There is only one religion in France now," explained Auguste Moleux, "the religion of Reason! We are all

citizens! We are all free and all able to think for ourselves. Citizen Robespierre has decreed that there is no

good God. Le bon Dieu was a tyrant and an aristocrat, and, like all tyrants and aristocrats, He has been

deposed. There is no good God, there is no Holy Virgin and no Saints, only Reason, who is a goddess and

And the townsfolk of Boulogne, with eyes still fixed on the gorgeous East, shouted with sullen obedience:

Only the women, trying to escape the towncrier's prying eyes, or the soldiers' stern gaze, hastily crossed

themselves behind their husbands' backs, terrified lest le bon Dieu had, after all, not altogether ceased to exist

Thus the worthy natives of Boulogne, forgetting their anxieties and fears, were ready enough to enjoy the

national fete ordained for them by the Committee of Public Safety, in honour of the capture of the Scarlet

Pimpernel. They were even willing to accept this new religion which Robespierre had invented: a religion

Mais, que voulezvous? Boulogne had long ago ceased to have faith in God: the terrors of the Revolution,

which culminated in that agonizing watch of last night, had smothered all thoughts of worship and of prayer.

The Scarlet Pimpernel must indeed be a dangerous spy that his arrest should cause so much joy in Paris!

Even Boulogne had learned by experience that the Committee of Public Safety did not readily give up a prey,

once its vulturelike claws had closed upon it. The proportion of condemnations as against acquittals was as

In the evening at a given hourseven o'clock had Auguste Moleux, the towncrier, understoodthe boom

of the cannon would be heard, the gates of the town would be opened, the harbour would become a free port.

Whatever he washero or spyhe was undoubtedly the primary cause of all their joy.

By the time Auguste Moleux had cried out the news throughout the town, and pinned the new proclamation

of mercy up on every public building, all traces of fatigue and anxiety had vanished. In spite of the fact that

wearisome vigils had been kept in every home that night, and that hundreds of men and women had stood

about for hours in the vicinity of the Gayole Fort, no sooner was the joyful news known, than all lassitude

was forgotten and everyone set to with a right merry will to make the great feteday a complete success.

There is in every native of Normandy, be he peasant or gentleman, an infinite capacity for enjoyment, and at

the same time a marvellous faculty for coordinating and systematizing his pleasures.

In a trice the surly crowds had vanished. Instead of these, there were groups of gailyvisaged men pleasantly

chattering outside every eating and drinking place in the town. The national holiday had come upon these

people quite unawares, so the early part of it had to be spent in thinking out a satisfactory programme for it.

Sipping their beer or coffee, or munching their cherries a l'eaudevie, the townsfolk of Boulogne, so lately

There was to be a grand muster on the Place de la Senechaussee, then a torchlight and lanthornlight march,

right round the Ramparts, culminating in a gigantic assembly outside the Town Hall, where the Citizen

Chauvelin, representing the Committee of Public Safety, would receive an address of welcome from the

The procession was to be in costume! There were to be Pierrots and Pierettes, Harlequins and English clowns,

aristocrats and goddesses! All day the women and girls were busy contriving travesties of all sorts, and the

little tumbledown shops in the Rue de Chateau and the Rue Frederic Sauvagekept chiefly by Jews and

English traders were ransacked for old bits of finery, and for remnants of costumes, worn in the days when

And then, of course, there would be the Goddess of Reason, in her triumphal car! the apotheosis of the new

Forgotten were the anxieties of the night, the fears of death, the great and glorious Revolution, which for this

Nothing was remembered save the pleasures and joys of the moment, and at times the name of that

Englishmanspy, hero or adventurer the cause of all this bounty: the Scarlet Pimpernel.

The grandfathers of the present generation of Boulonnese remembered the great day of the National Fete,

when all Boulogne, for twenty four hours, went crazy with joy. So many families had fathers, brothers,

sons, languishing in prison under some charge of treason, real or imaginary; so many had dear ones for whom

already the guillotine loomed ahead, that the feast on this memorable day of September, 1793, was one of

The weather all day had been exceptionally fine. After that glorious sunrise, the sky had remained all day

clad in its gorgeous mantle of blue and the sun had continued to smile benignly on the many varied doings of

this gay, little seaport town. When it began to sink slowly towards the West a few little fluffy clouds appeared

on the horizon, and from a distance, although the sky remained clear and blue, the sea looked quite dark and

Gradually, as the splendour of the sunset gave place to the delicate purple and grey tints of evening, the little

fluffy clouds merged themselves into denser masses, and these too soon became absorbed in the great,

By the time that the last grey streak of dusk vanished in the West, the whole sky looked heavy with clouds,

But this by no means mitigated the anticipation of pleasure to come. On the contrary, the fastgathering

gloom was hailed with delight, since it would surely help to show off the coloured lights of the lanthorns, and

Of a truth 'twas a motley throng which began to assemble on the Place de la Senechaussee, just as the old bell

of the Beffroi tolled the hour of six. Men, women and children in ragged finery, Pierrots with neck frills and

floured faces, hideous masks of impossible beasts roughly besmeared in crude colours. There were

gailycoloured dominoes, blue, green, pink and purple, harlequins combining all the colours of the rainbow

in one tightfitting garment, and Columbines with short, tarlatan skirts, beneath which peeped bare feet and

ankles. There were judges' perruqes, and soldiers' helmets of past generations, tall Normandy caps adorned

with hundreds of streaming ribbons, and powdered headgear which recalled the glories of Versailles.

Everything was torn and dirty, the dominoes were in rags, the Pierrot frills, mostly made up of paper, already

The crowd pushed and jolted, shouted and laughed, the girls screamed as the men snatched a kiss here and

there from willing or unwilling lips, or stole an arm round a gaily accoutred waist. The spirit of Old King

Carnival was in the evening aira spirit just awakened from a long Rip van Winklelike sleep.

In the centre of the Place stood the guillotine, grim and gaunt with long, thin arms stretched out towards the

sky, the last glimmer of waning light striking the triangular knife, there, where it was not rusty with stains of

For weeks now Madame Guillotine had been much occupied plying her gruesome trade; she now stood there

in the gloom, passive and immovable, seeming to wait placidly for the end of this holiday, ready to begin her

work again on the morrow. She towered above these merrymakers, hoisted up on the platform whereon many

an innocent foot had trodden, the tattered basket beside her, into which many an innocent head had rolled.

What cared they tonight for Madame Guillotine and the horrors of which she told? A crowd of Pierrots with

floured faces and tattered neck frills had just swarmed up the wooden steps, shouting and laughing, chasing

each other round and round on the platform, until one of them lost his footing and fell into the basket,

And all these people who for weeks past had been staring death and the guillotine in the face, had denounced

each other with savage callousness in order to save themselves, or hidden for days in dark cellars to escape

apprehension, now laughed, and danced and shrieked with gladness in a sudden, hysterical outburst of joy.

Close beside the guillotine stood the triumphal car of the Goddess of Reason, the special feature of this great

national fete. It was only a rough market cart, painted by an unpractised hand with bright, crimson paint and

adorned with huge clusters of autumntinted leaves, and the scarlet berries of mountain ash and rowan, culled

In the cart the goddess reclined on a crimsondraped seat, she, herself, swathed in white, and wearing a

gorgeous necklace around her neck. Desiree Candeille, a little pale, a little apprehensive of all this noise, had

obeyed the final dictates of her taskmaster. She had been the means of bringing the Scarlet Pimpernel to

France and vengeance, she was to be honoured therefore above every other woman in France.

She sat in the car, vaguely thinking over the events of the past few days, whilst watching the throng of rowdy

merrymakers seething around her. She thought of the noblehearted, proud woman whom she had helped to

bring from her beautiful English home to sorrow and humiliation in a dank French prison, she thought of the

gallant English gentleman with his pleasant voice and courtly, debonnair manners.

Chauvelin had roughly told her, only this morning, that both were now under arrest as English spies, and that

their fate no longer concerned her. Later on the governor of the city had come to tell her that Citizen

Chauvelin desired her to take part in the procession and the national fete, as the Goddess of Reason, and that

the people of Boulogne were ready to welcome her as such. This had pleased Candeille's vanity, and all day,

whilst arranging the finery which she meant to wear for the occasion, she had ceased to think of England and

But now, when she arrived on the Place de la Senechaussee, and mounting her car, found herself on a level

with the platform of the guillotine, her memory flew back to England, to the lavish hospitality of Blakeney

Manor, Marguerite's gentle voice, the pleasing grace of Sir Percy's manners, and she shuddered a little when

that cruel glint of evening light caused the knife of the guillotine to glisten from out the gloom.

But anon her reflections were suddenly interrupted by loud and prolonged shouts of joy. A whole throng of

Pierrots had swarmed into the Place from every side, carrying lighted torches and tall staves, on which were

The procession was ready to start. A stentorian voice shouted out in resonant accents:

A man now, portly and gorgeous in scarlet and blue, detached himself from out the crowd. His head was

hidden beneath the monstrous mask of a cardboard lion, roughly painted in brown and yellow, with crimson

for the widely open jaws and the corners of the eyes, to make them seem ferocious and bloodshot. His coat

was of bright crimson cloth, with cuts and slashings in it, through which bunches of bright blue paper were

He had blue stockings on and bright scarlet slippers, and behind him floated a large strip of scarlet flannel, on

Upon his portly figure in front he was supporting the big drum, which was securely strapped round his

There was a merciful slit in the jaw of the cardboard lion, through which the portly drummer puffed and

And wielding the heavy drumstick with a powerful arm, he brought it crashing down against the side of the

A fanfare of brass instruments followed, lustily blown by twelve young men in motley coats of green, and

The drummer had begun to march, closely followed by the trumpeters. Behind them a bevy of Columbines in

manycoloured tarlatan skirts and hair flying wildly in the breeze, giggling, pushing, exchanging ribald jokes

Then the triumphal car of the goddess, with Demoiselle Candeille standing straight up in it, a tall gold wand

in one hand, the other resting in a mass of scarlet berries. All round the car, helterskelter, tumbling, pushing,

came Pierrots and Pierrettes, carrying lanthorns, and Harlequins bearing the torches.

And after the car the long line of more sober folk, the older fisherman, the women in caps and manyhued

skirts, the serious townfolk who had scorned the travesty, yet would not be left out of the procession. They all

began to march, to the tune of those noisy brass trumpets which were thundering forth snatches from the

Above the sky became more heavy with clouds. Anon a few drops of rain began to fall, making the torches

sizzle and splutter, and scatter grease and tar around and wetting the lightlycovered shoulders of

tarlatanclad Columbines. But no one cared! The glow of so much merrymaking kept the blood warm and the

The flour all came off the Pierrots' faces, the blue paper slashings of the drummerinchief hung in pulpy

lumps against his gorgeous scarlet cloak. The trumpeters' feathers became streaky and bedraggled.

But in the name of that good God who had ceased to exist, who in the world or out of it cared if it rained, or

thundered and stormed! This was a national holiday, for an English spy was captured, and all natives of

The revellers were making the circuit of the town, with lanthorns fluttering in the wind, and flickering torches

held up aloft illumining laughing faces, red with the glow of a drunken joy, young faces that only enjoyed the

moment's pleasure, serious ones that withheld a frown at thought of the morrow. The fitful light played on the

grotesque masques of beasts and reptiles, on the diamond necklace of a very earthly goddess, on God's

glorious spoils from gardens and countryside, on smothered anxiety and repressed cruelty.

The crowd had turned its back on the guillotine, and the trumpets now changed the inspiriting tune of the

Everyone yelled and shouted. Girls with flowing hair produced broomsticks, and astride on these, broke from

the ranks and danced a mad and obscene saraband, a dance of witches in the weird glow of sizzling torches,

Thus the procession passed on, a sight to gladden the eyes of those who had desired to smother all thought of

the Infinite, of Eternity and of God in the minds of those to whom they had nothing to offer in return. A threat

of death yesterday, misery, starvation and squalor! all the hideousness of a destroying anarchy, that had

nothing to give save a national fete, a tinsel goddess, some shallow laughter and momentary intoxication, a

And there along the ramparts where the massive walls of the city encircled the frowning prisons of Gayole

and the old Chateau, dark groups were crouching, huddled together in compact masses, which in the gloom

seemed to vibrate with fear. Like hunted quarry seeking for shelter, sombre figures flattened themselves in

the angles of the dank walls, as the noisy carousers drew nigh. Then as the torches and lanthorns detached

themselves from out the evening shadows, hand would clutch hand and hearts would beat with agonized

suspense, whilst the dark and shapeless forms would try to appear smaller, flatter, less noticeable than before.

And when the crowd had passed noisily along, leaving behind it a trail of torn finery, of glittering tinsel and

of scarlet berries, when the boom of the big drum and the grating noise of the brass trumpets had somewhat

died away, wan faces, pale with anxiety, would peer from out the darkness, and nervous hands would grasp

with trembling fingers the small bundles of poor belongings tied up hastily in view of flight.

At seven o'clock, so 'twas said, the cannon would boom from the old Beffroi. The guard would throw open

the prison gates, and those who had something or somebody to hide, and those who had a great deal to fear,

And mothers, sisters, sweethearts stood watching by the gates, for loved ones tonight would be set free, all

To Chauvelin the day had been one of restless inquietude and nervous apprehension.

Collot d'Herbois harassed him with questions and complaints intermixed with threats but thinly veiled. At his

suggestion Gayole had been transformed into a fullymanned, wellgarrisoned fortress. Troops were to be

seen everywhere, on the stairs and in the passages, the guardrooms and offices: picked men from the

municipal guard, and the company which had been sent down from Paris some time ago.

Chauvelin had not resisted these orders given by his colleague. He knew quite well that Marguerite would

make no attempt at escape, but he had long ago given up all hope of persuading a man of the type of Collot

d'Herbois that a woman of her temperament would never think of saving her own life at the expense of

others, and that Sir Percy Blakeney, in spite of his adoration for his wife, would sooner see her die before

Collot was one of those brutish sotsnot by any means infrequent among the Terrorists of that timewho,

born in the gutter, still loved to wallow in his native element, and who measured all his fellowcreatures by

the same standard which he had always found good enough for himself. In this man there was neither the

enthusiastic patriotism of a Chauvelin, nor the ardent selflessness of a Danton. He served the revolution and

fostered the anarchical spirit of the times only because these brought him a competence and a notoriety,

which an orderly and fastidious government would obviously have never offered him.

History shows no more despicable personality than that of Collot d'Herbois, one of the most hideous products

of that utopian Revolution, whose grandly conceived theories of a universal levelling of mankind only

succeeded in dragging into prominence a number of halfbrutish creatures who, revelling in their own

Chauvelin tolerated and half feared Collot, knowing full well that if now the Scarlet Pimpernel escaped from

The scheme by which he hoped to destroy not only the heroic leader but the entire League by bringing

opprobrium and ridicule upon them, was wonderfully subtle in its refined cruelty, and Chauvelin, knowing by

now something of Sir Percy Blakeney's curiously blended character, was never for a moment in doubt but

that he would write the infamous letter, save his wife by sacrificing his honour, and then seek oblivion and

With so much disgrace, so much mud cast upon their chief, the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel would cease

to be. THAT had been Chauvelin's plan all along. For the end he had schemed and thought and planned, from

the moment that Robespierre had given him the opportunity of redeeming his failure of last year. He had built

up the edifice of his intrigue, bit by bit, from the introduction of his tool, Candeille, to Marguerite at the

Richmond gala, to the arrest of Lady Blakeney in Boulogne. All that remained for him to see now, would be

the attitude of Sir Percy Blakeney tonight, when, in exchange for the stipulated letter, he would see his wife

All day Chauvelin had wondered how it would all go off. He had stage managed everything, but he did not

From time to time, when his feeling of restlessness became quite unendurable, the exambassador would

wander round Fort Gayole and on some pretext or other demand to see one or the other of his prisoners.

Marguerite, however, observed complete silence in his presence: she acknowledged his greeting with a slight

inclination of the head, and in reply to certain perfunctory queries of his which he put to her in order to

justify his appearanceshe either nodded or gave curt monosyllabic answers through partially closed lips.

"You will be rejoining the 'DayDream' tonight. Can I send a messenger over to the yacht for you?"

"Sir Percy is well. He is fast asleep, and hath not asked for your ladyship. Shall I let him know that you are

A nod of acquiescence from Marguerite and Chauvelin's string of queries was at an end. He marvelled at her

Later on in the day, and egged on by Collot d'Herbois and by his own fears, he had caused Marguerite to be

This change he heralded by another brief visit to her, and his attitude this time was one of deferential

"A matter of expediency, Lady Blakeney," he explained, "and I trust that the change will be for your

But when he had gone, she turned with a sudden passionate outburst towards the Abbe Foucquet, her faithful

companion through the past long, weary hours. She fell on her knees beside him and sobbed in an agony of

"Oh! if I could only know ... if I could only see him! ... for a minute ... a second! ... if I could only know! ..."

"The good God knows!" said the old man, with his usual simple philosophy, "and perhaps it is all for the

The room which Chauvelin had now destined for Marguerite was one which gave from the larger one,

wherein last night he had had his momentous interview with her and with Sir Percy.

It was small, square and dark, with no window in it: only a small ventilating hole high up in the wall and

heavily grated. Chauvelin, who desired to prove to her that there was no wish on his part to add physical

discomfort to her mental tortures, had given orders that the little place should be made as habitable as

possible. A thick, soft carpet had been laid on the ground; there was an easy chair and a comfortablelooking

couch with a couple of pillows and a rug upon it, and oh, marvel! on the round central table, a vase with a

huge bunch of manycoloured dahlias which seemed to throw a note as if of gladness into this strange and

At the furthest corner, too, a construction of iron uprights and crossway bars had been hastily contrived and

fitted with curtains, forming a small recess, behind which was a tidy washstand, fine clean towels and plenty

of fresh water. Evidently the shops of Boulogne had been commandeered in order to render Marguerite's

But as the place was innocent of window, so was it innocent of doors. The one that gave into the large room

had been taken out of its hinges, leaving only the frame, on each side of which stood a man from the

Chauvelin himself had conducted Marguerite to her new prison. She followed himsilent and

apatheticwith not a trace of that awful torrent of emotion which had overwhelmed her but halfanhour

ago when she had fallen on her knees beside the old priest and sobbed her heart out in a passionate fit of

weeping. Even the sight of the soldiers left her outwardly indifferent. As she stepped across the threshold she

noticed that the door itself had been taken away: then she gave another quick glance at the soldiers, whose

The thought of Queen Marie Antoinette in the Conciergerie prison with the daily, hourly humiliation and

shame which this constant watch imposed upon her womanly pride and modesty, flashed suddenly across

Marguerite's mind, and a deep blush of horror rapidly suffused her pale cheeks, whilst an almost

Perhaps, as in a flash, she had at this moment received an inkling of what the nature of that terrible

"eitheror" might be, with which Chauvelin was trying to force an English gentleman to dishonour. Sir

"You see, Madame," said her cruel enemy's unctuous voice close to her ear, "that we have tried our humble

best to make your brief sojourn here as agreeable as possible. May I express a hope that you will be quite

comfortable in this room, until the time when Sir Percy will be ready to accompany you to the 'DayDream.'"

"And if there is anything you require, I pray you to call. I shall be in the next room all day and entirely at

A young orderly now entered bearing a small collationeggs, bread, milk and winewhich he set on the

central table. Chauvelin bowed low before Marguerite and withdrew. Anon he ordered the two sentinels to

stand the other side of the doorway, against the wall of his own room, and well out of sight of Marguerite, so

that, as she moved about her own narrow prison, if she ate or slept, she might have the illusion that she was

The sight of the soldiers had had the desired effect on her. Chauvelin had seen her shudder and knew that she

understood of that she guessed. He was now satisfied and really had no wish to harass her beyond endurance.

Moreover, there was always the proclamation which threatened the breadwinners of Boulogne with death if

Marguerite Blakeney escaped, and which would be in full force until Sir Percy had written, signed and

delivered into Chauvelin's hands the letter which was to be the signal for the general amnesty.

Chauvelin had indeed cause to be satisfied with his measures. There was no fear that his prisoners would

Even Collot d'Herbois had to admit everything was well done. He had read the draft of the proposed letter

and was satisfied with its contents. Gradually now into his loutish brain there had filtrated the conviction that

Citizen Chauvelin was right, that that accursed Scarlet Pimpernel and his brood of English spies would be

more effectually annihilated by all the dishonour and ridicule which such a letter written by the mysterious

hero would heap upon them all, than they could ever be through the relentless work of the guillotine. His only

"Bah! he'll do it," he would say whenever he thought the whole matter over: "Sacre tonnerre! but 'tis an easy

"You would sign such a letter without hesitation, eh, Citizen Collot," said Chauvelin, with wellconcealed

sarcasm, on one occasion when his colleague discussed the allabsorbing topic with him; "you would show

no hesitation, if your life were at stake, and you were given the choice between writing that letter and ... the

"More especially," continued Chauvelin drily, "if a million francs were promised you as well?"

"Sacre Anglis!" swore Collot angrily, "you don't propose giving him that money, do you?"

"We'll place it ready to his hand, at any rate, so that it should appear as if he had actually taken it."

Collot looked up at his colleague in ungrudging admiration. Chauvelin had indeed left nothing undone, had

thought everything out in this strangely conceived scheme for the destruction of the enemy of France.

"But in the name of all the dwellers in hell, Citizen," admonished Collot, "guard that letter well, once it is in

"I'll do better than that," said Chauvelin, "I will hand it over to you, Citizen Collot, and you shall ride with it

"Tonight!" assented Collot with a shout of triumph, as he brought his grimy fist crashing down on the table,

"I'll have a horse ready saddled at this very gate, and an escort of mounted men ... we'll ride like hell's own

furies and not pause to breathe until that letter is in Citizen Robespierre's hands."

"Well thought of, Citizen," said Chauvelin approvingly. "I pray you give the necessary orders, that the horses

be ready saddled, and the men booted and spurred, and waiting at the Gayole gate, at seven o'clock this

"Nay! the Englishman will have it ready by this evening, never fear. The tide is high at halfpast seven, and

he will be in haste for his wife to be aboard his yacht, ere the turn, even if he ..."

He paused, savouring the thoughts which had suddenly flashed across his mind, and a look of intense hatred

and cruel satisfaction for a moment chased away the studied impassiveness of his face.

"What do you mean, Citizen?" queried Collot anxiously, "even if he ... what? ..."

"Oh! nothing, nothing! I was only trying to make vague guesses as to what the Englishman will do AFTER

"Morbleu! he'll return to his own accursed country ... glad enough to have escaped with his skin. ... I

suppose," added Collot with sudden anxiety, "you have no fear that he will refuse at the last moment to write

The two men were sitting in the large room, out of which opened the one which was now occupied by

Marguerite. They were talking at the further end of it, close to the window, and though Chauvelin had mostly

spoken in a whisper, Collot had ofttimes shouted, and the exambassador was wondering how much

Now at Collot's anxious query he gave a quick furtive glance in the direction of the further room wherein she

"You don't think that the Englishman will refuse to write the letter?" insisted Collot with angry impatience.

"If he does, I send the woman to Paris tonight and have him hanged as a spy in this prison yard without

further formality or trial ..." replied Chauvelin firmly; "so either way, you see, Citizen," he added in a

whisper, "the Scarlet Pimpernel is done for. ... But I think that he will write the letter."

Later on, when his colleague left him in order to see to the horses and to his escort for tonight, Chauvelin

called Sergeant Hebert, his old and trusted familiar, to him and gave him some final orders.

"The Angelus must be rung at the proper hour, friend Hebert," he began with a grim smile.

"The Angelus, Citizen?" quoth the Sergeant, with complete stupefaction, "'tis months now since it has been

rung. It was forbidden by a decree of the Convention, and I doubt me if any of our men would know how to

Chauvelin's eyes were fixed before him in apparent vacancy, while the same grim smile still hovered round

his thin lips. Something of that irresponsible spirit of adventure which was the mainspring of all Sir Percy

Blakeney's actions, must for the moment have pervaded the mind of his deadly enemy.

Chauvelin had thought out this idea of having the Angelus rung tonight, and was thoroughly pleased with

the notion. This was the day when the duel was to have been fought; seven o'clock would have been the very

hour, and the sound of the Angelus to have been the signal for combat, and there was something very

satisfying in the thought, that that same Angelus should be rung, as a signal that the Scarlet Pimpernel was

"We must have some signal between ourselves and the guard at the different gates, also with the harbour

officials: at a given moment the general amnesty must take effect and the harbour become a free port. I have a

fancy that the signal shall be the ringing of the Angelus: the cannons at the gates and the harbour can boom in

response; then the prisons can be thrown open and prisoners can either participate in the evening fete or leave

the city immediately, as they choose. The Committee of Public Safety has promised the amnesty: it will carry

out its promise to the full, and when Citizen Collot d'Herbois arrives in Paris with the joyful news, all natives

"I understand all that, Citizen," said Hebert, still somewhat bewildered, "but not the Angelus."

"Morbleu! haven't you one calotin left in Boulogne whom you can press into doing this service?"

"Aye! calotins enough! there's the Abbe Foucquet in this very building ... in No. 6 cell ..."

"Sacre tonnerre!" ejaculated Chauvelin exultingly, "the very man! I know his dossier well! Once he is free, he

will make straightway for England ... he and his family ... and will help to spread the glorious news of the

dishonour and disgrace of the muchvaunted Scarlet Pimpernel! ... The very man, friend Hebert! ... Let him

be stationed here ... to see the letter written ... to see the money handed overfor we will go through with

that farceand make him understand that the moment I give him the order, he can run over to his old church

St. Joseph and ring the Angelus. ... The old fool will be delighted ... more especially when he knows that he

will thereby be giving the very signal which will set his own sister's children free. ... You understand? ..."

"Yes. I'll bring him along myself, and stand over him, lest he play any pranks."

"Oh! he'll not trouble you," sneered Chauvelin, "he'll be deeply interested in the proceedings. The woman

will be here too, remember," he added with a jerky movement of the hand in the direction of Marguerite's

room, "the two might be made to stand together, with four of your fellows round them."

"I understand, Citizen. Are any of us to escort the Citizen Foucquet when he goes to St. Joseph?"

"Aye! two men had best go with him. There will be a crowd in the streets by then ... How far is it from here

"It shall be seen to, Citizen. How many men will you have inside this room tonight?"

"Let the walls be lined with men whom you can trust. I anticipate neither trouble nor resistance. The whole

thing is a simple formality to which the Englishman has already intimated his readiness to submit. If he

changes his mind at the last moment there will be no Angelus rung, no booming of the cannons or opening of

the prison doors: there will be no amnesty, and no free pardon. The woman will be at once conveyed to Paris,

and ... But he'll not change his mind, friend Hebert," he concluded in suddenly altered tones, and speaking

The conversation between Chauvelin and his familiar had been carried on in whispers: not that the Terrorist

cared whether Marguerite overheard or not, but whispering had become a habit with this man, whose tortuous

ways and subtle intrigues did not lend themselves to discussion in a loud voice.

Chauvelin was sitting at the central table, just where he had been last night when Sir Percy Blakeney's sudden

advent broke in on his meditations. The table had been cleared of the litter of multitudinous papers which had

encumbered it before. On it now there were only a couple of heavy pewter candlesticks, with the tallow

candles fixed ready in them, a leatherpad, an inkwell, a sandbox and two or three quill pens: everything

Already in imagination, Chauvelin saw his impudent enemy, the bold and daring adventurer, standing there

beside that table and putting his name to the consummation of his own infamy. The mental picture thus

evoked brought a gleam of cruel satisfaction and of satiated lust into the keen, ferretlike face, and a smile of

He looked round the room where the great scene would be enacted: two soldiers were standing guard outside

Marguerite's prison, two more at attention near the door which gave on the passage: his own halfdozen

picked men were waiting his commands in the corridor. Presently the whole room would be lined with

troops, himself and Collot standing with eyes fixed on the principal actor of the drama! Hebert with specially

No, no! he had left nothing to chance this time, and down below the horses would be ready saddled, that were

No! nothing was left to chance, and in either case he was bound to win. Sir Percy Blakeney would either

write the letter in order to save his wife, and heap dishonour on himself, or he would shrink from the terrible

ordeal at the last moment and let Chauvelin and the Committee of Public Safety work their will with her and

"In that case the pillory as a spy and summary hanging for you, my friend," concluded Chauvelin in his mind,

"and for your wife ... Bah, once you are out of the way, even she will cease to matter."

He left Hebert on guard in the room. An irresistible desire seized him to go and have a look at his discomfited

enemy, and from the latter's attitude make a shrewd guess as to what he meant to do tonight.

Sir Percy had been given a room on one of the upper floors of the old prison. He had in no way been closely

guarded, and the room itself had been made as comfortable as may be. He had seemed quite happy and

"I hope you quite understand, Sir Percy, that you are my guest here to night," Chauvelin had said suavely,

"Lud love you, sir," Sir Percy had replied gaily, "but I verily believe that I am."

"It is only Lady Blakeney whom we have cause to watch until to morrow," added Chauvelin with quiet

But Sir Percy seemed, whenever his wife's name was mentioned, to lapse into irresistible somnolence. He

yawned now with his usual affectation, and asked at what hour gentlemen in France were wont to breakfast.

Since then Chauvelin had not seen him. He had repeatedly asked how the English prisoner was faring, and

whether he seemed to be sleeping and eating heartily. The orderly in charge invariably reported that the

Englishman seemed well, but did not eat much. On the other hand, he had ordered, and lavishly paid for,

"Hm! how strange these Englishmen are!" mused Chauvelin; "this so called hero is nothing but a

winesodden brute, who seeks to nerve himself for a trying ordeal by drowning his faculties in brandy ...

But the wish to have a look at that strangely complex creature hero, adventurer or mere lucky foolwas

irresistible, and Chauvelin in the latter part of the afternoon went up to the room which had been allotted to

He never moved now without his escort, and this time also two of his favourite bodyguard accompanied him

to the upper floor. He knocked at the door, but received no answer, and after a second or two he bade his men

There was an odour of brandy in the air; on the table two or three empty bottles of wine and a glass half filled

with cognac testified to the truth of what the orderly had said, whilst sprawling across the camp bedstead,

which obviously was too small for his long limbs, his head thrown back, his mouth open for a vigorous snore,

Chauvelin went up to the bedstead and looked down upon the reclining figure of the man who had oft been

Of a truth, a fine figure of a man, Chauvelin was ready enough to admit that; the long, hard limbs, the wide

chest, and slender, white hands, all bespoke the man of birth, breeding and energy: the face too looked strong

and clearlycut in repose, now that the perpetually inane smile did not play round the firm lips, nor the lazy,

indolent expression mar the seriousness of the straight brow. For one momentit was a mere flash

Chauvelin felt almost sorry that so interesting a career should be thus ignominiously brought to a close.

The Terrorist felt that if his own future, his own honour and integrity were about to be so hopelessly crushed,

he would have wandered up and down this narrow room like a caged beast, eating out his heart with self

reproach and remorse, and racking his nerves and brain for an issue out of the terrible alternative which

And as if in answer to Chauvelin's puzzled musing a deep snore escaped the sleeping adventurer's parted lips.

Chauvelin sighed, perplexed and troubled. He looked round the little room, then went up to a small side table

which stood against the wall and on which were two or three quill pens and an inkwell, also some loosely

scattered sheets of paper. These he turned over with a careless hand and presently came across a closely

It was the beginning of the letter! ... only a few words so far ... with several corrections of misspelt words ...

and a line left out here and there which confused the meaning ... a beginning made by the unsteady hand of

Close by was the draft of it as written out by Chauvelin, and which Sir Percy had evidently begun to copy.

He had made up his mind then. ... He meant to subscribe with his own hand to his lasting dishonour ... and

Chauvelin felt the paper trembling in his hand. He felt strangely agitated and nervous, now that the issue was

"There's no demmed hurry for that, is there ... er ... Monsieur Chaubertin? ..." came from the slowly wakening

Sir Percy in somewhat thick, heavy accents, accompanied by a prolonged yawn. "I haven't got the demmed

Chauvelin had been so startled that the paper dropped from his hand. He stooped to pick it up.

"Nay! why should you be so scared, sir?" continued Sir Percy lazily, "did you think I was drunk? ... I assure

"I have no doubt, Sir Percy," replied Chauvelin ironically, "that you have all your marvellous faculties

entirely at your command. ... I must apologize for disturbing your papers," he added, replacing the half

"It will be, sir ... it will be ... for I am not drunk, I assure you. ... and can write with a steady hand ... and do

"The 'DayDream' must leave the harbour at the turn of the tide," quoth Sir Percy thickly. "It'll be demmed

"About sundown ... not later ..." muttered Blakeney, as he once more stretched his long limbs along the

"I'll not fail you ..." he murmured, as he closed his eyes, and gave a final struggle to get his head at a

comfortable angle, "the letter will be written in my best cali ... calig. ... Lud! but I'm not so drunk as you think

But as if to belie his own oftrepeated assertion, hardly was the last word out of his mouth than his stertorous

With a shrug of the shoulders and a look of unutterable contempt at his brokendown enemy, Chauvelin

But outside in the corridor he called the orderly to him and gave strict commands that no more wine or

"He has two hours in which to sleep off the effects of all that brandy which he had consumed," he mused as

he finally went back to his own quarters, "and by that time he will be able to write with a steady hand."

And now at last the shades of evening were drawing in thick and fast. Within the walls of Fort Gayole the last

rays of the setting sun had long ago ceased to shed their dying radiance, and through the thick stone

embrasures and the dusty panes of glass, the grey light of dusk soon failed to penetrate.

In the large groundfloor room with its window opened upon the wide promenade of the southern ramparts, a

silence reigned which was oppressive. The air was heavy with the fumes of the two tallow candles on the

Against the walls a row of figures in dark blue uniforms with scarlet facings, drab breeches and heavy riding

boots, silent and immovable, with fixed bayonets like so many automatons lining the room all round; at some

little distance from the central table and out of the immediate circle of light, a small group composed of five

soldiers in the same blue and scarlet uniforms. One of these was Sergeant Hebert. In the centre of this group

The Abbe Foucquet had been brought down from his prison cell a few minutes ago, and told to watch what

would go on around him, after which he would be allowed to go to his old church of St. Joseph and ring the

The Angelus would be the signal for the opening of all the prison gates in the town. Everyone tonight could

come and go as they pleased, and having rung the Angelus, the abbe would be at liberty to join Francois and

The Abbe Foucquet did not quite understand all this, which was very rapidly and roughly explained to him. It

was such a very little while ago that he had expected to see the innocent children mounting up those awful

steps which lead to the guillotine, whilst he himself was looking death quite near in the face, that all this talk

But he was quite content that it had all been ordained by le bon Dieu, and very happy at the thought of

ringing the dearlyloved Angelus in his own old church once again. So when he was peremptorily pushed

into the room and found himself close to Marguerite, with four or five soldiers standing round them, he

quietly pulled his old rosary from his pocket and began murmuring gentle "Paters" and "Aves" under his

Beside him sat Marguerite, rigid as a statue: her cloak thrown over her shoulders, so that its hood might hide

her face. She could not now have said how that awful day had passed, how she had managed to survive the

terrible, nerveracking suspense, the agonizing doubt as to what was going to happen. But above all, what

she had found most unendurable was the torturing thought that in this same grim and frowning building her

husband was there ... somewhere ... how far or how near she could not say ... but she knew that she was

parted from him and perhaps would not see him again, not even at the hour of death.

That Percy would never write that infamous letter and LIVE, she knew. That he might write it in order to

save her, she feared was possible, whilst the look of triumph on Chauvelin's face had aroused her most

When she was summarily ordered to go into the next room, she realized at once that all hope now was more

than futile. The walls lined with troops, the attitude of her enemies, and above all that table with paper, ink

and pens ready as it were for the accomplishment of the hideous and monstrous deed, all made her very heart

"If the woman moves, speaks or screams, gag her at once!" said Collot roughly the moment she sat down, and

Sergeant Hebert stood over her, gag and cloth in hand, whilst two soldiers placed heavy hands on her

But she neither moved nor spoke, not even presently when a loud and cheerful voice came echoing from a

distant corridor, and anon the door opened and her husband came in, accompanied by Chauvelin.

The exambassador was very obviously in a state of acute nervous tension; his hands were tightly clasped

behind his back, and his movements were curiously irresponsible and jerky. But Sir Percy Blakeney looked a

picture of calm unconcern: the lace bow at his throat was tied with scrupulous care, his eyeglass upheld at

quite the correct angle, and his delicatecoloured caped coat was thrown back just sufficiently to afford a

He was the perfect presentation of a London dandy, and might have been entering a royal drawingroom in

company with an honoured guest. Marguerite's eyes were riveted on him as he came well within the circle of

light projected by the candles, but not even with that acute sixth sense of a passionate and loving woman

could she detect the slightest tremor in the aristocratic hands which held the goldrimmed eyeglass, nor the

This had occurred just as the bell of the old Beffroi chimed threequarters after six. Now it was close on

seven, and in the centre of the room and with his face and figure well lighted up by the candles, at the table

At his elbow just behind him stood Chauvelin on the one side and Collot d'Herbois on the other, both

Sir Percy seemed in no hurry. He wrote slowly and deliberately, carefully copying the draft of the letter

which was propped up in front of him. The spelling of some of the French words seemed to have troubled

him at first, for when he began he made many facetious and selfdeprecatory remarks anent his own want of

education, and carelessness in youth in acquiring the gentle art of speaking so elegant a language.

Presently, however, he appeared more at his ease, or perhaps less inclined to talk, since he only received curt

monosyllabic answers to his pleasant sallies. Five minutes had gone by without any other sound, save the

spasmodic creak of Sir Percy's pen upon the paper, the while Chauvelin and Collot watched every word he

But gradually from afar there had arisen in the stillness of evening a distant, rolling noise like that of surf

breaking against the cliffs. Nearer and louder it grew, and as it increased in volume, so it gained now in

diversity. The monotonous, rolllike, faroff thunder was just as continuous as before, but now shriller notes

broke out from amongst the more remote sounds, a loud laugh seemed ever and anon to pierce the distance

and to rise above the persistent hubbub, which became the mere accompaniment to these isolated tones.

The merrymakers of Boulogne, having started from the Place de la Senechaussee, were making the round of

the town by the wide avenue which tops the ramparts. They were coming past the Fort Gayole, shouting,

singing, brass trumpets in front, big drum ahead, drenched, hot, and hoarse, but supremely happy.

Sir Percy looked up for a moment as the noise drew neared, then turned to Chauvelin and pointing to the

The suspense in the smokeladen atmosphere of this room was becoming unendurable, and four hearts at

least were beating wildly with overpowering anxiety. Marguerite's eyes were fixed with tender intensity on

the man she so passionately loved. She did not understand his actions or his motives, but she felt a wild

longing in her, to drink in every line of that loved face, as if with this last, long look she was bidding an

The old priest had ceased to tell his beads. Feeling in his kindly heart the echo of the appalling tragedy which

was being enacted before him, he had put out a fatherly, tentative hand towards Marguerite, and given her icy

And in the hearts of Chauvelin and his colleague there was satisfied revenge, eager, exultant triumph and that

But who can say what went on within the heart of that bold adventurer, about to be brought to the lowest

depths of humiliation which it is in the power of man to endure? What behind that smooth unruffled brow

The crowd was now on the Place Daumont; some of the foremost in the ranks were ascending the stone steps

which lead to the southern ramparts. The noise had become incessant: Pierrots and Pierrettes, Harlequins and

Columbines had worked themselves up into a veritable intoxication of shouts and laughter.

Now as they all swarmed up the steps and caught sight of the open window almost on a level with the ground,

and of the large dimlylighted room, they gave forth one terrific and voluminous "Hurrah!" for the paternal

government up in Paris, who had given them cause for all this joy. Then they recollected how the amnesty,

the pardon, the national fete, this brilliant procession had come about, and somebody in the crowd shouted:

They shouted and stamped and swarmed round the open window, swinging their lanthorns and demanding in

Faces wet with rain and perspiration tried to peep in at the window. Collot gave brief orders to the soldiers to

close the shutters at once and to push away the crowd, but the crowd would not be pushed. It would not be

gainsaid, and when the soldiers tried to close the window, twenty angry fists broke the panes of glass.

"I can't finish this writing in your lingo, sir, whilst this demmed row is going on," said Sir Percy placidly.

"You have not much more to write, Sir Percy," urged Chauvelin with nervous impatience, "I pray you, finish

"They want to see me," he said with a laugh. "Why, demn it all ... then, why not let em? ..."

And with a few rapid strokes of the pen, he quickly finished the letter, adding his signature with a bold

flourish, whilst the crowd, pushing, jostling, shouting and cursing the soldiers, still loudly demanded to see

Chauvelin felt as if his heart would veritably burst with the wildness of its beating.

Then Sir Percy, with one hand lightly pressed on the letter, pushed his chair away and with his pleasant

With that he sprang to his feet and up to his full height, and as he did so he seized the two massive pewter

candlesticks, one in each hand, and with powerful arms well outstretched he held them high above his head.

But even as he was quickly reaching out a hand, which shook with the intensity of his excitement, towards

the letter on the table, Blakeney, with one loud and sudden shout, threw the heavy candlesticks onto the floor.

They rattled down with a terrific crash, the lights were extinguished, and the whole room was immediately

The crowd gave a wild yell of fear: they had only caught sight for one instant of that gigantic figurewhich,

with arms outstretched had seemed supernaturally tallweirdly illumined by the flickering light of the

tallow candles and the next moment disappearing into utter darkness before their very gaze. Overcome with

sudden superstitious fear, Pierrots and Pierrettes, drummer and trumpeters turned and fled in every direction.

Who gave it no one knew, no one could afterwards recollect: certain it is that with one accord the majority of

the men made a rush for the open window, driven thither partly by the wild instinct of the chase after an

escaping enemy, and partly by the same superstitious terror which had caused the crowd to flee. They

clambered over the sill and dropped down on to the ramparts below, then started in wild pursuit.

There was the sound of a heavy thud, of a terrible scuffle there on the floor in the darkness and then a yell of

"Victory!" echoed Chauvelin, exultant and panting, "victory!! The Angelus, friend Hebert! Take the calotin to

It was instinct which caused Collot d'Herbois to find the door; he tore it open, letting in a feeble ray of light

from the corridor. He stood in the doorway one moment, his slouchy, ungainly form distinctly outlined

against the lighter background beyond, a look of exultant and malicious triumph, of deadly hate and cruelty

distinctly imprinted on his face and with upraised hand wildly flourishing the precious document, the brand

"A Paris!" shouted Chauvelin to him excitedly. "Into Robespierre's hands. ... The letter! ..."

Collot, without looking again behind him, called wildly for the men who were to escort him to Paris. They

were picked troopers, stalwart veterans from the old municipal guard. They had not broken their ranks

throughout the turmoil, and fell into line in perfect order as they followed Citizen Collot out of the room.

Less than five minutes later there was the noise of stamping and champing of bits in the courtyard below, a

shout from Collot, and the sound of a cavalcade galloping at breakneck speed towards the distant Paris gate.

And gradually all noises died away around the old Fort Gayole. The shouts and laugher of the merrymakers,

who had quickly recovered from their fright, now came only as the muffled rumble of a distant storm, broken

here and there by the shrill note of a girl's loud laughter, or a vigorous fanfare from the brass trumpets.

The room where so much turmoil had taken place, where so many hearts had beaten with torrentlike

emotions, where the awesome tragedy of revenge and hate, of love and passion had been consummated, was

The soldiers had gone: some in pursuit of the revellers, some with Collot d'Herbois, others with Hebert and

Chauvelin, overcome with the intensity of his exultation and the agony of the suspense which he had endured,

sat, vaguely dreaming, hardly conscious, but wholly happy and content. Fearless, too, for his triumph was

He had lived long enough to see the complete annihilation and dishonour of his enemy.

What had happened to Sir Percy Blakeney now, what to Marguerite, he neither knew nor cared. No doubt the

Englishman had picked himself up and got away through the window or the door: he would be anxious to get

his wife out of the town as quickly as possible. The Angelus would ring directly, the gates would be opened,

So what mattered the humbled wayside English flower?the damaged and withered Scarlet Pimpernel? ...

A slight noise suddenly caused him to start. He had been dreaming, no doubt, having fallen into some kind of

torpor, akin to sleep, after the deadly and restless fatigue of the past four days. He certainly had been

unconscious of everything around him, of time and of place. But now he felt fully awake.

And again he heard that slight noise, as if something or someone was moving in the room.

He tried to peer into the darkness, but could distinguish nothing. He rose and went to the door. It was still

open, and close behind it against the wall a small oil lamp was fixed which lit up the corridor.

Chauvelin detached the lamp and came back with it into the room. Just as he did so there came to his ears the

He stepped into the room holding the lamp high above his head; its feeble rays fell full upon the brilliant

He was smiling pleasantly, bowing slightly towards Chauvelin, and in his hand he held the sheathed sword,

the blade of which had been fashioned in Toledo for Lorenzo Cenci, and the fellow of which was lying

"The day and hour, Monsieur, I think," said Sir Percy with courtly grace, "when you and I are to cross swords

together; those are the southern ramparts, meseems. Will you precede, sir? and I will follow."

At sight of this man, of his impudence and of his daring, Chauvelin felt an icy grip on his heart. His cheeks

became ashen white, his thin lips closed with a snap, and the hand which held the lamp aloft trembled visibly.

Sir Percy stood before him, still smiling and with a graceful gesture pointing towards the ramparts.

From the Church of St. Joseph the gentle, melancholy tones of the Angelus sounding the second Ave Maria

With a violent effort Chauvelin forced himself to selfcontrol, and tried to shake off the strange feeling of

obsession which had overwhelmed him in the presence of this extraordinary man. He walked quite quietly up

to the table and placed the lamp upon it. As in a flash recollection had come back to him .. the past few

Bah! he had nothing to fear now, save perhaps death at the hand of this adventurer turned assassin in his

"A truce on this folly, Sir Percy," he said roughly, "as you well know, I had never any intention of fighting

"I knew that, M. Chauvelin. ... But do YOU know that I have the intention of killing you now ... as you stand

And throwing down the sword with one of those uncontrolled outbursts of almost animal passion, which for

one instant revealed the real, inner man, he went up to Chauvelin and towering above him like a great

avenging giant, he savoured for one second the joy of looking down on that puny, slender figure which he

"And if you killed me now, Sir Percy," he said quietly and looking the man whom he so hated fully in the

eyes, "you could not destroy that letter which my colleague is taking to Paris at this very moment."

As he had anticipated, his words seemed to change Sir Percy's mood in an instant. The passion in the

handsome, aristocratic face faded in a trice, the hard lines round the jaw and lips relaxed, the fire of revenge

died out from the lazy blue eyes, and the next moment a long, loud, merry laugh raised the dormant echoes of

"Nay, Monsieur Chaubertin," said Sir Percy gaily, "but this is marvellous ... demmed marvellous ... do you

hear that, m'dear? ... Gadzooks! but 'tis the best joke I have heard this past twelvemonths. ... Monsieur here

thinks ... Lud! but I shall die of laughing. ... Monsieur here thinks ... that 'twas that demmed letter which went

to Paris ... and that an English gentleman lay scuffling on the floor and allowed a letter to be filched from him

"Sir Percy! ..." gasped Chauvelin, as an awful thought seemed suddenly to flash across his fevered brain.

"Lud, sir, you are astonishing!" said Sir Percy, taking a very much crumpled sheet of paper from the

capacious pocket of his elegant caped coat, and holding it close to Chauvelin's horrorstricken gaze. "THIS is

the letter which I wrote at that table yonder in order to gain time and in order to fool you. ... But, by the Lord,

you are a bigger demmed fool than ever I took you to be, if you thought it would serve any other purpose

And with a quick and violent gesture he struck Chauvelin full in the face with the paper.

"You would like to know, Monsieur Chaubertin, would you not? ..." he added pleasantly, "what letter it is

that your friend, Citizen Collot, is taking in such hot haste to Paris for you. ... Well! the letter is not long and

'tis written in verse. ... I wrote it myself upstairs today whilst you thought me sodden with brandy and

threeparts asleep. But brandy is easily flung out of the window. ... Did you think I drank it all? ... Nay! as

you remember, I told you that I was not so drunk as you thought? ... Aye! the letter is writ in English verse,

"We seek him here! we seek him there! Those Frenchies seek him everywhere! Is he in heaven? is he in hell?

"A neat rhyme, I fancy, Monsieur, and one which will, if rightly translated, greatly please your friend and

ruler, Citizen Robespierre. ... Your colleague Citizen Collot is well on his way to Paris with it by now. ... No,

no, Monsieur ... as you rightly said just now ... I really could not kill you ... God having blessed me with the

Even as he spoke the third Ave Maria of the Angelus died away on the morning air. From the harbour the old

The hour of the opening of the gates, of the general amnesty and free harbour was announced throughout

Chauvelin was livid with rage, fear and baffled revenge. He made a sudden rush for the door in a blind desire

to call for help, but Sir Percy had toyed long enough with his prey. The hour was speeding on: Hebert and

some of the soldiers might return, and it was time to think of safety and of flight. Quick as a hunted panther,

he had interposed his tall figure between his enemy and the latter's chance of calling for aid, then, seizing the

little man by the shoulders, he pushed him back into that portion of the room where Marguerite and the Abbe

The gag, with cloth and cord, which had been intended for a woman were lying on the ground close by, just

With quick and dexterous hands, Sir Percy soon reduced Chauvelin to an impotent and silent bundle. The

exambassador after four days of harrowing nervetension, followed by so awful a climax, was weakened

physically and mentally, whilst Blakeney, powerful, athletic and always absolutely unperturbed, was fresh in

body and spirit. He had slept calmly all the afternoon, having quietly thought out all his plans, left nothing to

Having fully assured himself that the cords were well fastened, the gag secure and Chauvelin completely

helpless, he took the now inert mass up in his arms and carried it into the adjoining room, where Marguerite

He laid his enemy's helpless form upon the couch, and for one moment looked down on it with a strange

feeling of pity quite unmixed with contempt. The light from the lamp in the further room struck vaguely upon

the prostrate figure of Chauvelin. He seemed to have lost consciousness, for the eyes were closed, only the

hands, which were tied securely to his body, had a spasmodic, nervous twitch in them.

With a goodnatured shrug of the shoulders the imperturbable Sir Percy turned to go, but just before he did

so, he took a scrap of paper from his waistcoat pocket, and slipped it between Chauvelin's trembling fingers.

On the paper were scribbled the four lines of verse which in the next four and twenty hours Robespierre

As he reentered the large room, she was standing beside the table, with one dainty hand resting against the

back of the chair, her whole graceful figure bent forward as if in an agony of ardent expectation.

Never for an instant, in that supreme moment when his precious life was at stake, did she waver in courage or

presence of mind. From the moment that he jumped up and took the candlesticks in his hands, her sixth sense

When the room was plunged in darkness she stood absolutely still; when she heard the scuffle on the floor

she never trembled, for her passionate heart had already told her that he never meant to deliver that infamous

letter into his enemies' hands. Then, when there was the general scramble, when the soldiers rushed away,

when the room became empty and Chauvelin alone remained, she shrank quietly into the darkest corner of

She could not see him, but she felt the beloved presence there, somewhere close to her, and she knew that he

would wish her to wait. ... She watched him silently ... ready to help if he called ... equally ready to remain

Only when the helpless body of her deadly enemy was well out of the way did she come from out the

darkness, and now she stood with the full light of the lamp illumining her ruddy golden hair, the delicate

Thus he saw her as he reentered the room, and for one second he paused at the door, for the joy of seeing

Forgotten was the agony of mind which he had endured, the humiliations and the dangers which still

The next moment she lay clasped in his arms. All was still around them, save for the gentle patterpatter of

the rain on the trees of the ramparts: and from very far away the echo of laughter and music from the distant

Blakeney and Marguerite awoke from their brief dream: once more the passionate lover gave place to the

"'Tis Tony, an I mistake not," he said hurriedly, as with loving fingers still slightly trembling with suppressed

"Aye! with Hastings and one or two others. I told them to be ready for us tonight as soon as the place was

Then he led her to the window, and lifted her onto the sill. It was not high from the ground and two pairs of

Then he, too, followed, and quietly the little party turned to walk toward the gate. The ramparts themselves

now looked strangely still and silent: the merrymakers were far away, only one or two passersby hurried

swiftly past here and there, carrying bundles, evidently bent on making use of that welcome permission to

The little party walked on in silence, Marguerite's small hand resting on her husband's arm. Anon they came

upon a group of soldiers who were standing somewhat perfunctorily and irresolutely close by the open gate of

The gates of Boulogne had been thrown open to everyone when the Angelus was rung and the cannon

boomed. The general amnesty had been proclaimed, everyone had the right to come and go as they pleased,

No one knew that the great and glorious plans for the complete annihilation of the Scarlet Pimpernel and his

League had come to naught, that Collot was taking a mighty hoax to Paris, and that the man who had thought

out and nearly carried through the most fiendishly cruel plan ever conceived for the destruction of an enemy,

And so the little party, consisting of Sir Percy and Marguerite, Lord Anthony Dewhurst and my Lord

Outside the precincts of the town they met my Lord Everingham and Sir Philip Glynde, who had met the

Abbe Foucquet outside his little church and escorted him safely out of the city, whilst Francois and Felicite

"We were all in the procession, dressed up in all sorts of ragged finery, until the last moment," explained

Lord Tony to Marguerite as the entire party now quickly made its way to the harbour. "We did not know

what was going to happen. ... All we knew was that we should be wanted about this timethe hour when the

duel was to have been foughtand somewhere near here on the southern ramparts ... and we always have

strict orders to mix with the crowd if there happens to be one. When we saw Blakeney raise the candlesticks

we guessed what was coming, and we each went to our respective posts. It was all quite simple."

The young man spoke gaily and lightly, but through the easy banter of his tone, there pierced the enthusiasm

Between the city walls and the harbour there was much bustle and agitation. The English packetboat would

lift anchor at the turn of the tide, and as every one was free to get aboard without leave or passport, there

Two boats from the "DayDream" were waiting in readiness for Sir Percy and my lady and those whom they

Silently the party embarked, and as the boats pushed off and the sailors from Sir Percy's yacht bent to their

oars, the old Abbe Foucquet began gently droning a Pater and Ave to the accompaniment of his beads.

He accepted joy, happiness and safety with the same gentle philosophy as he would have accepted death, but

Marguerite's keen and loving ears caught at the end of each "Pater" a gently murmured request to le bon Dieu

Only once did Marguerite make allusion to that terrible time which had become the past.

They were wandering together down the chestnut alley in the beautiful garden at Richmond. It was evening,

and the air was heavy with the rich odour of wet earth, of belated roses and dying mignonette. She had

paused in the alley, and placed a trembling hand upon his arm, whilst raising her eyes filled with tears of

"That awful evening in Boulogne ... what that fiend demanded ... his awful 'eitheror' ... I brought it all upon

"Aye," he said, whilst in the fastgathering dusk she could only just perceive the sudden hardening of his

face, the look of wild passion in his eyes, "but for that evening in Boulogne, but for that alternative which

that devil placed before me, I might never have known how much you meant to me."

Even the recollection of all the sorrow, the anxiety, the torturing humiliations of that night seemed

completely to change him; the voice became trenchant, the hands were tightly clenched. But Marguerite drew